


What you don't go after

by TwilightLegacy13



Category: The Seven Realms Series - Cinda Williams Chima
Genre: Before The Demon King, Canon Compliant, Carlyn (Original Character), Double-Keeper (Original Character), Eagle (Original Character), F/M, Multi Chapter, Nicolas (Original Character), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Silver (Original Character) - Freeform, Skaryn (Original Character), Southbridge, The Raggers, Twilight (Original Character), Viktar (Original Character), ragmarket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightLegacy13/pseuds/TwilightLegacy13
Summary: "Crooked and cynical and too familiar with the world" - The Crimson Crown, by Cinda Williams ChimaHan Alister knows as well as everyone else in Ragmarket what it's like to have nothing, and when he meets a group of Raggers, he decides to take matters into his own hands.  It won't be easy to make a life in a gang on the streets of Fellsmarch, of course, but he has little choice when his mother and sister are depending on him for the money they need to survive in the city.  Everything is a matter of loyalty and survival with the Raggers.  What could go wrong?Or, a fic taking place before The Demon King from when Han joins the Raggers to when he becomes their streetlord to when he finally gives up the life of being in a street gang.  You don't get what you don't go after, but some things are better left undone.
Relationships: Cat Tyburn/Theo Gray ("Velvet"), Han Alister/Cat Tyburn
Comments: 46
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will have multiple chapters, some of them longer than others, and it will update every Wednesday. I do have some OCs in here, which I've tagged above - it would be all but impossible to write a fic like this without them, seeing as it's unlikely all of the Raggers stayed the same throughout the time that Han was a part of the gang. Besides, it was fun to write about new characters too :) Hope you all like it!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Mild threats.

Han Alister was on his way back to his mother and sister after spending another summer at Marisa Pines Camp with the Spirit clans. Each time he left to go to the camp, it was harder to come back—Ragmarket seemed smaller and more cramped than ever before after the freedom of Marisa Pines.

This time, at least, he’d managed to make some money helping Willo with finding herbs and making healing mixtures that she could use in her line of work. It wouldn’t be enough iron to help Mam support them for another year, but it was something.

He found himself wishing again that he were clan, that he wouldn’t have to be so constantly desperate for money on both Mam’s and Mari’s behalf. That the queen would learn to care about Ragmarket and the people who lived there.

 _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride_ , he could hear Mam saying in his head.

Han was so preoccupied in wondering about where the future would take him that he didn’t notice he had made a wrong turn. Instead of going down the Way to get to the stable, he’d gone into a closed-off alleyway that no sane person would go into alone.

He was facing half a dozen ruthless-looking people who could only be members of some gang. They ranged from a few years younger than Han to around seventeen, and it suddenly struck him that a few had gone around behind him to block the way he’d come. He was trapped.

A girlie that looked about his age with dirty-blond hair stalked toward Han, her hand hovering by a small blade. “You clan?” she asked. “You’re wearing clan clothes, so you must be, but you got lighter hair than the they do.”

He looked down at his clan attire, then back up at the girlie. “I’m not clan,” he explained. “I foster with them in the summer, and I was on my way home.”

Hopefully, if he was vague, he would get out of this.

“A blueblood then,” she said, as if that were worse than being clan. “They the only ones that foster with the camps.”

“How do you know that?” wondered an older boy. “What d’you know about bluebloods?”

“I know plenty well, Jonas,” she snapped, and he recoiled. “They’re them that got white carriages and scarlet satin and parties till dawn because they can, and when they gets bored, some of ‘em go to the camps.”

“I an’t a blueblood,” Han protested. “I live in Ragmarket same as you, and if you mean to rob me, I got nothing worth taking.” That was almost the truth—the purse of money he’d gotten from Willo wasn’t worth much, especially divided among six people.

Then, as a thought struck him, he inconspicuously tugged at his sleeves to cover up the cuffs on his wrists. Gangs might not usually be interested in darbies, but these were silver fancywork.

“Then why you coming down the alley?” the girlie demanded. “Your home an’t here. An’t nothing here but empty merchant booths and old, broken fenceposts.”

“I took a wrong turn,” Han admitted.

A boy around naming age walked forward, and the girlie stepped aside. It was obvious that he was in charge—or at least more so than she was.

“You an’t been saying much,” he noted slowly. “Most folks will start’n going on about how they done nothing wrong. Not you, though. Like you’re picking words careful, knowing what to hide. You seem rum clever.”

Han had no idea if he was supposed to thank the boy or not. It sounded like a compliment, but he didn’t want to risk offending a ruthless gang member.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked abruptly.

Han tried to rapidly think of a false name he could use, but drew a blank. If the boy wasn’t going to get him in trouble, then lying about his name might make complications. But it probably also wouldn’t be smart to reveal who he really was.

Then again, what would he care?

“Hanson Alister,” he said, not asking for him to reciprocate with a name because he recognized that wasn’t likely to happen.

“Well, long as the bluejackets don’t hear nothing—” he eyed Han, as if to make sure he got the point— “I think we should have us a talk.”

A talk. That could have many meanings, and Han wasn’t sure he liked any of them.

The boy leaned against an abandoned merchant booth casually. “My name is Viktar, and I am the streetlord of the Raggers.”

“The Raggers?” Han interjected, surprised. Though he had never met them, and never had wanted to, he had heard about the vicious nature of the Raggers—the most prominent gang in Ragmarket.

“I trust you’ve heard of us?” Viktar asked with a smirk.

Han nodded mutely.

“Let’s hear it,” he said gleefully. “Always wanted to hear what other people think we are. Divers? Lock-charmers and slide-handers? Heartless runaways learned to be flimpers and sharps?”

“Well. All of them.”

Viktar laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “They don’t got it wrong, only they think we got a choice. There’s not rich people in Ragmarket—they know that—but there’s only so many fair jobs around, and the pay an’t enough. It an’t enough for people to survive on.”

Han nodded, vehemently agreeing. Mam worked by doing laundry and ragpicking, but it could never support three people, especially when one was a four-year and one never seemed to bring enough money home.

“Looks like you know that. You tell me, and be honest now. You ever broken the law?”

It was a question that ambushed him, because he had. Just before he left for Marisa Pines that summer, he had briefly tried to develop a talent for slide-hand theft. When that hadn’t worked out—much, at least—he’d learned how to play games like nicks and bones or royals and commons so that he could eventually cheat at them.

That worked about as well as stealing had, seeing that few expected somebody so young to be able to gamble, and no one liked to lose.

“Yes,” Han confessed slowly. “I used to do some slide-hand, and worked with cards for some time.” That was the delicate term: “worked with cards” and not “cheated.”

Viktar waved away the cards and focused on the theft. “And when you was a slide-hander, did you steal for the thrill of it?”

“No.” It was starting to sound like an interrogation.

“Did you steal because it was the only way to help out your family?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you do it, too?”

“I _do_ it,” he countered. “I do it and everyone here does it and the other Raggers I don’t got with me do it. We don’t pinch money and dive pockets because it’s glorious. We do it to live. And if living another day means taking from someone what they an’t going to miss, you choose to live another day.”

Han thought about this. Ragmarket was a hard, desperate place to be, and the people who lived there lived hard, desperate lives. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who knew that.

Viktar, it seemed, wasn’t done. “And if living another day means taking from someone what they _are_ going to miss, you still choose to live another day. It’s everyone for themself, ‘less you got a family or a gang to protect. And if you do, it’s that much more at stake. It’s why you got to make hard choices.”

“I understand,” Han said cautiously. “Isn’t that what everyone in Ragmarket does? Make hard choices to survive?”

“They do, but sometimes the choices they think they got aren’t enough. Sometimes you got to find new choices. You, what’d you say your name was, Alister? Tell me, how many people you got in your family trying to help? How bad you got it?”

He found himself telling the truth, because at this point, there wasn’t much use in lying. Besides, it seemed like Viktar was trying to get at something here, and it was starting to sound intriguing.

“There’s me, my mam and my little sister,” Han answered. “But my mother don’t get paid enough money and she can’t be getting much work than she’s already got, and there’s not much of a way I can help her out.”

“See, we all started out that way. We all started out with no money and no chance. Then we come together, and we either was able to help our family or we weren’t, but we got a new family too. ‘Cause Raggers…we got to stick together. We don’t got another choice.”

Viktar gestured to the girlie with dirty-blond hair who’d been talking earlier. “Sarie, here. She’s new. She only ‘came a Ragger a little while ago, and it was because she didn’t have anyone left. She been here only two or three months, and now she does.”

Han started to understand what the streetlord was meaning. The idea ambushed him at first, but then he began to realize that he might not get a better chance. If amusing the law a little meant that Mam and Mari and he would be a little less desperate, a little less poor….

“What’re those on your wrists?” Sarie interrupted.

He looked down to see that his sleeves had slid back again, uncovering the cuffs. “Oh,” he said, instantly worried that his prospects were gone. “Just cuffs. Kind of a trademark of mine. They don’t come off, though. See?” He tugged at the metal to demonstrate.

“I thought you said you had nothing worth taking,” Viktar accused, frowning.

“I lied. Besides, it’s not like you can take them if they don’t come off. Far’s I’m concerned, they don’t count.”

The streetlord stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—a surprisingly genuine sound. “Can I blame you for lying to a gang about whether you should be robbed?” he chuckled. “It’s like I said, you’re rum clever, and you look fearless too. That’s a good thing.”

Han wasn’t fearless. He was afraid of a good number of things. He just wasn’t so afraid that he was foolish enough to act like it.

There was a long, weighty silence during which no one spoke a word. It went on long enough for him to decide that if Viktar wouldn’t extend the invitation, Han would ask. He might get turned down, and he might get robbed, but he’d be no worse off than he would have in other circumstances.

And, of course, he might say yes.

Han was trying to think of the right way to phrase his request when Viktar said slyly, “I believe you’re a Ragger at heart.” A long pause. “But if you’d like to be, you could be one in other ways. Join us?”

“I will,” Han said firmly. He didn’t like to think of what Mam’s reaction might be. Fury that he was joining a gang? Pleasure that she’d get more money? _No_. She never seemed to be pleased. But at least they wouldn’t be quite as poor.

Viktar smiled: a dangerous, gleeful smile.

“You got a street name you want to use when you’re with us?”

“A what?”

“A street name, you know,” he said, talking with his hands. “Some of us don’t like to use our real names, ‘s like we put those people behind when we come. Or some don’t.”

Han shrugged. He was on the verge of just telling them to call him “Han,” even though he liked the idea of a street name—it wasn’t like he had anything else to be called.

Then he thought about it. A way to escape the cramped, frantic life above the stable. A way to take something he owned that was absolutely useless and make it into his identity. A way for him to change when he had to.

“Cuffs,” he decided, tilting his hand a little so he could look at the carved design in the silver. “You can call me Cuffs.”

“Cuffs, then.” Viktar smiled like he was pleased with the name. “Before you join, you got to know the risks. This an’t a safe life to be in. There’s them that’ll try and hush you on a daily basis. Plus them that’ll dawb the bluejackets to get free while turning you in. You got to be better at the life than them, and we’ll teach you how, but you also got to go into it with both eyes open.”

“I know,” Han said. “How do we do this?”

Sarie came up beside him and murmured directions to him, for which he was grateful. He knelt in front of Viktar, his soon-to-be streetlord, and extended his empty hands.

“If you was in another gang before us, you’d be holding out your knife,” Sarie explained. “But since you going to be in the Raggers and no one else first, you don’t got a knife yet. The streetlord loans you one, but it’s still his, till you get one of your own. Like a rite of passage, see?”

Han nodded, noting that she didn’t specify how he was supposed to get one.

Sarie told him the words to the official pledge given to a streetlord by a new crew-member, and he repeated them while staring up at Viktar and looking him right in the eyes. Apparently, this was when he would have offered up his knife, but instead the streetlord placed one in his hands and closed Han’s fingers around it.

“I accept your oath, Cuffs Alister,” Viktar said formally. Then, quieter, almost a whisper, he added, “Once a Ragger, so you will be forever.”

Han bowed his head, then stood up to face his street-lord.

The propriety of the moment dropped, and Viktar slipped back into the patter flash that practically everyone in Ragmarket used. “Let’s get you introduced to my runners. They’re them that swore to me like you just done.”

He gave a piercing whistle, and other Raggers came into view. Apparently, almost all of them had been in the vicinity. Han immediately went to work keeping track of which name went to which face.

There was Sarie, a new recruit anxious to prove herself. Jonas, an older boy who mostly kept to himself, but was rum with a lockpick. Twilight, who specialized in slide-hand when it was too dark to be caught. Cat, a deft flimper who also had the knife skills of a professional. Silver, who dealt with forged and faked pieces. Jed, a pickpocket. The list went on as Han was also introduced to Carlyn and Skaryn, Nicolas, Eagle, and Double-Keeper.

All of them were from different pasts, different backgrounds, different lives. All of them were united, under a single streetlord in a single city. It was astonishing.

Viktar set a hand on Han’s shoulder in a friendly way. “It seems like there’s a lot of us, I know. But we all help each other and work together when we can, and long’s everybody tries, everyone gets shares. ‘Sides, it’s not an easy life. Between bluejackets and other gangs, we’re all targets. So we all look out for each other best we can.”

“’Course we do,” a Ragger reaffirmed. Han had a quick moment of panic before remembering that it was Twilight. “Streetlords, they don’t got much time ‘fore they meet something they can’t handle. Doesn’t meet we got to hurry it along. We take risks a’times, but we an’t foolish.”

“I don’t know,” Sarie countered laughingly. “The streetlord we got now seems like he can handle anything.”

“Appreciated,” Viktar said, holding up both hands, “but let’s not tempt fate. I don’t mean to leave you all anytime soon, but it don’t always matter what we mean.”

Han smiled a little to himself, seeing that the Raggers really were like a family. A tough, hardened, imperfect family, but it was obvious they really looked out for each other and watched each other’s backs. Maybe he actually would be able to fit in here.

“Now Cuffs,” Viktar began. “We all share secrets too, so it’s important to not let on you know things, even if it seems safe to. Don’t want things revealed, you know? We got a hideout at the end of Pinbury Alley, in that abandoned property. No one goes there now but us. Some of us got our own places where we stay sometimes, but the Pinbury Alley one is fair game whenever you want to be there. Just make sure you an’t being followed when you show up.”

“Of course,” Han agreed, grateful.

“If you got to see us all, or some of us, an’ you can’t find us, leave a note under the loose block at the entrance to the hideout. Don’t be too obvious about what you mean, but it’s our messaging place. You should be able to find some of us at any time though. As I said before, we stick together, and Ragmarket’s not the biggest place.”

Han had one final question. “What if someone needs help, or backup or something? How are we supposed to know to come, or where?”

Jed smiled. “You stay here long enough, you’ll get a kind of intuition for when there’s danger. If a Ragger needs help, chances are the help will already be there. You’ll pick up on it soon.”

“And any time that you want to learn something,” Viktar added, “like slide-hand, knife fighting, lock-charming, anything, you come to us. You’re one of us now. We got your back till you can get your own. And even then.”

“Thank you,” Han whispered.

“Welcome to the Raggers,” his streetlord said.

Han looked around at the rest of the gang and saw acceptance on each of the faces. Determination, to help another person succeed who reminded them of themselves when they were the same way. Understanding for the situation he was in, and the resolve to help him get out of it. It was odd to say about a street gang, but they were the only people who had ever looked at him that way.

The suddenness of heavy footsteps startled him, and he realized that Eagle—he thought it was Eagle, at least—had already darted off to the noise. He recalled Viktar saying that Eagle specialized in scouting and being able to move quietly enough so that no one would hear him.

Within a few seconds, he was back, herding everyone to the end of the alley. “Bluejackets,” he whispered urgently. “Said there was Southies what caused a disturbance, and they’re searching the area. There, behind the fencing.”

All of the Raggers ducked behind the fence to wait until the bluejackets ran past, fully aware that it was not the best place to hide. Viktar waved his hand to get their attention.

“One at a time now, let’s go our own ways,” he hissed. “They won’t think that we are Raggers if we keep it calm and don’t go all’s one. Cuffs, you go on home and to your family. We can all meet at the Pinbury Alley place tomorrow morning.”

Han didn’t like the idea of leaving before the others and not knowing what happened to them, but he trusted they could take care of themselves. Besides, a streetlord’s orders were not optional, and he didn’t want to start off wrong.

He crept out from behind the fence—then, not seeing anyone right there, he stood up and walked placidly down the alley at a casual pace. If he was seen, no one would know he had just joined a gang of criminals and thieves.

He was two blocks away from the stable when he heard someone hurrying behind him, and turned around to see who it was. It was Cat Tyburn, the flimper and knife-fighter of the Raggers.

She was a Southern Islander about Han’s age, with gray eyes and tied-back curls of black hair. She held herself with an air of perpetual defiance, like she was born refusing to do something and would go on refusing until the end of time.

“Cuffs,” she began, all but running into him. “Didn’t get a chance to talk to you ‘fore the bluejackets came.”

“Cat.” He was surprised, and had no idea why she wanted to specifically talk to him. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m glad you was coming down that alley when we was there,” she said slowly. If it was possible to say something both openly _and_ shyly, she managed it. “You seem like a good one to have on the crew.”

“Thank you,” Han replied, flattered. “You seem like a good one to have, too. Not to your enemies or the other gangs, though.”

Cat’s mouth twitched. “Hah! Viktar always said I was fierce for one so young. Always said it with a smile, so least I know he don’t mind it. I an’t about to change now.”

“Hmm,” Han said. It was a pointless thing to say, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He scrambled for something to add, and wound up changing the subject. He nodded to the scrap of fabric that tied back her hair. “I never seen those colors all combined together like that. Do they mean something?”

She stared for a moment, uncomprehending, and then it clicked. “Oh. They’re Ragger colors. We all got a Ragger scarf, but there’s scraps in the hideout too. I pinched some so my hair wouldn’t keep getting in the way. No one really cares, they an’t going to use them anyway.”

Han nodded in agreement.

“Hang on,” Cat said, evidently realizing something. “You an’t got a Ragger scarf yet, do you? Couldn’t have, with the bluejackets and all.”

“No, I don’t have one yet,” he responded. “It isn’t that big of a deal, though. I’m sure—”

Cat sighed as if exasperated by this display of ignorance. “Not that big of a deal? Every Ragger’s got their scarf, Cuffs, and it’s like a symbol for them. They’re lightweight too, so you can wear them any season. Mostly for recognition, though.”

Han smiled, hoping it would stop the advertisement. “Ah. That makes sense.”

She rolled her eyes, then undid the top buttons of her jacket so she could get at her scarf. She unwound it from around her neck, then tossed it at Han.

He caught it reflexively. “What are you doing? This is yours.”

“Not anymore,” Cat amended. “A Ragger’s got to have a Ragger scarf, ‘specially a new runner. It’s part of the tradition anyway, for the streetlord to give the new crew member their scarf when they swear to him. Only Viktar couldn’t this time, because of the bluejackets.”

“I can’t take your scarf,” he protested. “You got to have one, too.”

She waved it away as unimportant. “I’m going to the Pinbury Alley hideout after this. I can pinch another one there, or if there an’t any there, I’ll just tell Viktar. He can get me another. But you got to have your own Ragger scarf, and you got to keep that one. I an’t going to take it back even if you want me to. It’s yours now.”

Han was oddly touched by such a simple action. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing hard. It didn’t seem to be enough.

Cat gave him one last look, then shrugged as if to say it was nothing. “See you tomorrow with the others.”

“See you then.”

She turned and began to make her way back through the streets, then paused and looked back. “Cuffs?”

“I’m still here,” Han said, coming a little closer.

“I knew you was going to be a Ragger soon as you came down the alley,” she told him. “Just wanted you to know.”

And then she was gone, leaving him with a newly-found future, a Ragger scarf in his hands, and two blocks to go before he arrived at the stable to see his mother and sister.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long, but hopefully it's worth it because I think it turned out pretty well! I probably could have broken it up into multiple parts, but it just seemed better this way. Enjoy!!
> 
> Content warnings: Discussion of death, violence, unhealthy familial relationships, threats, references to drug addiction, mentions of child neglect

When Han arrived at the room above the stable, Mam was pacing back and forth, slamming her fist into her other hand angrily with every step. She muttered continually under her breath, and he would have been willing to bet it was about him.

Sure enough: “Hanson, what do you think you were doing?” she demanded, frustrated. “You were supposed to be here the day before yesterday, or don’t you remember?”

He held up his hands to display his innocence. Before he went inside, he had folded up his new scarf and stashed it in his pocket. No use in creating awkward questions before the awkward conversation started.

“Mam, I was going to come back then,” he explained, “but Willo said she needed me another day. I got some money from working in the camp.” He tossed the purse to her, and she caught it easily, weighing it in one hand.

“Well, then, if she needed you another day, then why weren’t you here by yesterday?” she snapped, looking displeased at the weight of the purse. “Did it take you that long to come into the city?”

Han sighed, and was working out how much to tell when his little sister squealed his name. “Han!” she exclaimed, beaming. “Where were you?”

He knelt down next to her so she could see him better. “I was at the clan camp,” he reminded her gently. “But I was a little late to come back because I ran into some trouble on the streets. But what about you, here? How’s it been for you, Mari?”

Mari shrugged. “Kind of the same. Mam’s got a new job.”

 _Really?_ He looked up to see his mother glowering down at him, with no apparent inclination to explain the new job until he answered her other question. When he didn’t, she repeated it slowly. “Why did it take you until today to get here?”

Han stood up. “Like I said, I got into a problem on the streets.” He was wary of the fact that Mari was standing in the same room, but he knew that there was no other place for them to go to have this discussion. “I ran into the Ragger gang.”

Thankfully, it seemed that his sister didn’t understand what that meant yet, but Mam did. “Couldn’t you have been more careful?” she asked, skipping over asking her son if he was all right. “You an’t ever been nothing but reckless. How many times do I got to tell you to—”

“They didn’t bother me none, Mam,” Han added, hoping to stop the lecture. “Well, they was going to, but the streetlord seemed to like me for some reason. He said I was fearless, and rum clever. He offered to let me join their crew.”

“You _didn’t_ say yes—”

“I said yes.”

Mam stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, while he waited for the explosion. He had known this was coming from the moment he got down on his knees and swore to Viktar, but it didn’t mean this would be any more enjoyable.

“Hanson Alister!” she shouted loud enough to make him flinch. “We might be poor, and we might have a hard time getting by, but that don’t mean you can go and throw away our integrity. What you going to do when you get yourself arrested and you can’t get your way out? What do you think’ll happen to me and Mari?”

He was just about to say that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let himself get caught, but stopped himself. He was used to Mam reprimanding him for something or other, and he knew by now that the best way to get her to stop was to let her go.

But apparently this question wasn’t rhetorical. She continued to glare at him, expecting an answer.

“Well, what do you think’ll happen when you and me get jailed for debt because we can’t pay off the rent?” he countered. “Think about Mari. Best-case scenario, if we get jailed by the sympathy-workers, she’ll be raised by the dedicates. Worst-case scenario, if we get jailed by the bluejackets, she’ll be raised by dedicates and be an orphan.” Han paused to let that sink in.

Mam looked like a fish out of water as she formulated a response. “Hanson, you got to be ashamed of youself. ‘Stead of supporting your family, you want to run round with gangs and break laws and turn to slide-hand. You’ll come to a bad end, I know it, and leave Mari and me to pay the price.”

Han looked her right in the eyes. “We’re already paying the price, as much as we can. I got the only option to make things easier for us, and I took it. And you an’t going to make me change my mind.”

His mother took an angry step toward him, but Mari got between the two. “Han, what’s going on?” she asked. She sounded frightened. After all, she had heard her name brought up several times in the midst of a heated debate between her brother and mother; and she was only four years old.

He crouched down in front of her and took both of her hands. “Don’t worry, Mari,” he said soothingly. “Everything’s all right. I got a new job, is all. Mam doesn’t like it, but I got to do it. It’ll get us a lot more money so we don’t have to worry as much.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “You should do it, then.”

Her simple faith in him managed to give him confidence and break his heart at the same time.

“There’s only one problem,” he whispered to her, knowing that this would be painful to say. And hear. “I’ll be real busy with this job, for a while. I won’t be able to come here as often, to see you. I’ll have to live someplace else. Maybe I’ll get a chance now and then to visit, but it won’t be like things are now.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“I wish it weren’t like this,” Han said, and he meant it. While joining the Raggers would help him and his family immeasurably, it would have its price. He knew that staying with his family while he was in a gang would be like holding up a sign for his enemies, letting them know the best way to hurt him.

He knew that Mam could hear every word of what they were saying, and took her silence to mean that she, too, was having a hard time processing this. Han was too, for that matter, but some things needed to be done. He’d rather his family survive and not see him than stay and watch all of them grow increasingly desperate.

“I’ll send you and Mam the money I make from this job,” Han went on, careful to avoid telling his sister just what this new job was. He was fairly sure she wouldn’t ask, given the rest of the situation. “Any time I can come and see you, I will. Mari, you got to trust me. I wouldn’t ever leave you if I didn’t got to. It’s just—it just happened that way.”

He stood up, and faced his mother again. Probably for the last time until—he didn’t even know when. He tried to say something, but his voice caught in his throat. His entry into the Raggers was bittersweet.

“Be safe,” Han managed, roughly embracing Mam. She submitted stiffly enough to show that she was still upset, but willingly enough to show that protesting wouldn’t make a difference.

“Hanson Alister, you watch out for yourself now,” she told him sternly.

Mari was crying. “Han, please. Can’t you get a different job? Please don’t go.”

“I don’t want to go either,” Han said, feeling broken and sorry that he had felt so at home among the Raggers. Sorry that he couldn’t do more for his sister and mother. “But I got to. I don’t—I don’t have another choice, Mari. I’m real sorry.”

The weeks that followed were filled with lessons that Han learned from the Raggers. Jonas taught him how to expertly charm locks until he could break into almost any building. Eagle taught him how to sharpen his senses to detect danger. Jed taught him how to distract a target long enough to pick their pockets.

Han was a quick learner, and almost everyone who had been teaching him admitted that he was already highly skilled in their individual specialties. He was progressing rapidly in all of the areas of thieving.

Except for with Cat. She had been tirelessly trying to coach him in how to use a garrote like she did, but this proved to have its complications. Not only was it difficult to practice, but Han seemed to have very little talent at it. Though Cat tried to help him improve, he often worked her to the point of deep frustration, when she would fix him with her piercing eyes, toss back her hair, and stalk away, leaving him to review his mistakes and wait a day to ask for more help.

Han soon learned that Viktar was a very dedicated streetlord, took responsibility for his crew, and was always there to help when one of them needed something. Especially him. Viktar seemed infinitely patient with him, and never got irritated—at least that he could see—when Han asked what must have been obvious questions to someone like him.

“Cuffs!” someone called, startling Han from his thoughts. He looked up to see that it was Silver, walking toward him with a large bag in one hand.

“Hm?” he asked, wondering what it was she needed.

“Jonas pinched this from a traveler going south,” she explained, lifting up the bag. “Some carvings, plus leatherwork that we could pass off as clan-made. Come with, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Sure,” Han agreed amiably. It sounded interesting, to say the least, and it sounded like the profit from this one would be big. Big profits meant big shares.

Silver gestured for him to follow her, and set a quick pace as they headed for the market. After a few minutes of silence, Han tried to start up a conversation. “So why they call you Silver?”

She shot him a glance. He couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or amusement. “Before I joined the Raggers, I was on my own, trying to find a way to survive. I was walking past this shop that sold valuables, and I saw how the owners wasn’t wishing for things.”

She laughed bitterly. “It an’t fair that we all couldn’t live like they done. I stole some things from the store that was pure silver. It was night so they couldn’t see who I was, but the bluejackets’re probably still looking for me. Anyway, I sold them at the market and got a lot of girlies for them.

“The vendor I sold ‘em to said if I could give him more business, he’d double the price. I doesn’t want to make promises, but I needed the iron, so I said I’d get ‘im more silver. Thing is, that valuables shop was on lockdown and din’t want to get robbed again. I couldn’t get in.”

Han was focused on the story, wondering how she could have gotten out of this.

“So I pinched some steel polished up real fine, got to look like silver. When I sold it to ‘im it looked genuine, and he trusted that it’d be as real as the first. ‘S I was putting away the girlies he paid me, he called over an assistant an’ he saw that they was fake.”

“What happened then?” he asked.

“The vendor made a scene,” Silver said, “and asked if the first silver was real. I said it was, but by then it don’t matter. He’d realized I was the one stole those things from the shop first, and called them bluejackets. They was about to arrest me when Viktar showed up, dawbed ‘em to let it go. I swore to ‘im then and been sworn to ‘im every since, but I an’t forgot where I started.”

By now they had come to the vendor they were looking for, which—Silver assured him—was not the same one she’d encountered before. Before going up to bargain, she pulled Han aside. “Now you listen, let me do the talking here,” she told him. “I’m teaching you how’s done.”

He nodded. While it might be exciting to be part of the action, he knew that he was inexperienced, and he was here to learn.

Silver strode to the merchant, a smile plastered on her face. “Taz Mackney!” she greeted casually, bracing a hand against the post of his booth. “’S been awhile since I seen you. I thought you was saving up to rent buildspace.”

“I still am,” he assured her, grinning back. “Commerce has been lackluster lately, so my savings are greatly depleted. Unless, of course, you have something for me?”

She laughed. “I din’t come all this way just to talk to you, Taz. I got three flashpieces, one of which looks real expensive, and I was hoping you’d take a look at ‘em. Tell me what they’re worth, at least, if you an’t got the iron to buy them up-front.”

“Show me,” he invited, clearing a space in front of him.

Han watched everything Silver was doing carefully. The skillful friendliness. The way she knew the merchant by name. The nonchalant posture she adopted. It was masterful.

One by one, Silver slid the carvings onto the table for Taz to examine. He seemed to find each of them satisfactory, especially the one ringed with faceted topazes. After prodding the last one extensively, he looked up at Silver, beaming.

“These art pieces are exceedingly unique,” Taz praised. Han noted that the merchant ignored the fact that they were magical and against the law—then again, they were pretty much doing the same thing. “For this topaz one alone, you could easily get fifteen crowns.”

_Fifteen girlies!_

Silver laughed again. “Really? I was thinking twenty.”

“Oh, well…” He looked flustered. “Twenty is a definite possibility, depending on who buys it.”

She eyed him. “Well now, I was thinking was going to sell ‘em all to you—if you’d have ‘em, that is. You could have them off and adding to that savings a’yours. You an’t going to want to waste the opportunity now, are you?”

“I find myself persuaded,” Taz replied smoothly. “And as for these other little carvings…well, they’re a touch banged up, but valuable nonetheless. We’ll say five crowns each?”

Silver shrugged. “Sounds plausible.”

Taz slid two pouches across the table at them, then scooped up the flashpieces. Silver proceeded to count the money twice before nodding in agreement.

“A pleasure as always,” the merchant called after them.

Han smiled admiringly at Silver. “You did great back there. Wish I could do things like that.”

“You’ll be able to one of these days,” she said absently, craning her neck as if trying to spot something. She tossed one of the pouches at him. “Here, you hold this till we gets to Viktar.”

He caught the pouch, realizing that the gesture was one of trust. She trusted him to carry a bag with fifteen girlies and not take off running. He brightened up a little at the thought.

The leatherwork sale was rather dull compared to the flashpiece one, but Silver was no less skilled at this round. She was able to successfully pass of the leather as clan-made, when in reality it was anything but, and got an additional ten girlies for it. She passed this pouch to Han as well for safekeeping until they met up with their streetlord.

It was making him nervous, holding so much money—like at any moment, someone would sneak up and snatch it all. This apprehension was not helped by how distracted Silver was looking, as if someone were following them.

It turned out, though, that she wasn’t wrong. They were a few minutes away from the Pinbury Alley hideout when two bluejackets burst out of seemingly nowhere and stalked toward them.

“We’ve been following you for days,” one of them announced to Silver, who drew back a little. “We know you were the one who stole that silver a year ago, and we’re not about to let you go unpunished for it.”

The look in Silver’s eyes reminded Han of an animal who had gotten themselves cornered by a predator and knew there was no way to escape. It was obvious that she was terrified of being jailed—or what would happen to her if she were.

“Hey now,” Han said good-naturedly, sliding a hand into his pocket inconspicuously. “There’s got to be some kind of a misunderstanding here, right? She an’t the one you’re looking for.”

“She certainly is!” the bluejacket contradicted angrily.

Han managed to slip three girlies into his palm and withdraw his hand. Making sure his fist was in clear view of the bluejackets, he opened it a little to let part of the coins be visible. “She an’t the one you’re looking for,” he repeated. “Right? Look at her—she don’t even look like the right one. Does she?”

Han had no idea if bribing these bluejackets would work, but he had to try. He’d heard horror stories of what happened in the guardhouse, and he wasn’t about to let Silver be arrested by these men.

To his surprise, one of the men began to nod thoughtfully. “She don’t look _exactly_ the same,” he agreed, his eyes flicking to Han’s hand. “Does she, Private?”

The other bluejacket looked unconvinced by the show. Han took out a few more girlies, displaying them a little more openly. He tilted one of them so that the edge of the coin caught the light, glinting almost magically.

“This might be just me,” Han said, “but she does look different than the one stole that silver. What do you think?” He spun around the coin with his fingers like a hypnotist.

The bluejacket eyed the money hungrily. “I think you’re right,” he acquiesced. Han mentally chided the guards for accepting bribes, but was grateful for their greed. “She’s not the one.”

“See?” Han asked calmly, putting an arm around Silver’s shoulders. He could feel her trembling from fear and relief. “I think you thought she was the one because you’re so dedicated to your jobs. That should be rewarded, shouldn’t it? All just a big misunderstanding.”

He took out the rest of the money they had gotten from the leather and divided it between the bluejackets. Evidently, five girlies each in return for doing nothing was more agreeable than arresting somebody.

The bluejackets smiled, then turned and left. One of them muttered something and nudged the other’s shoulder like he was sharing a joke. And just like that, it was forgotten.

“I—I owe you,” Silver stammered, looking Han in the eyes. “They been after me awhile now, but never been so close to getting me. Viktar’ll be proud—a new Ragger already got the bluejackets on the dawb. But you saved me. Thank you.”

“Aw, it’s no big deal,” Han insisted, leading her to the hideout. “We look out for each other. Besides, we still got thirty girlies out of it.”

She smiled weakly, and they spent the rest of the walk in silence. They had just snuck into the abandoned property in Pinbury Alley when they noticed that all the other Raggers were waiting for them there.

Wondering why they had all come here at the same time, Han set the remaining bag of money down while Silver did the same. He had turned back to tell them all what had happened with the carvings and bluejackets, then stopped—he only then realized that there was another person in the hideout, one he had never seen before.

The stranger was a boy around Han’s age, maybe even a year or two older, but he looked young and alone. He stood in the farthest corner, with most of the other Raggers forming a half-circle around him. He wore a red velvet coat that looked to be several sizes too big for him, rolled up at the sleeves. He couldn’t seem to keep still—he kept tapping his foot against the floor and drumming his fingers along the wall while surveying the Raggers in front of him.

Viktar turned to see Han standing there, taking in the scene, laughing at his reaction. “He wants to join the crew,” the streetlord explained. “But we don’t even know who he is yet, so we was about to ask him some questions.”

 _Oh_. The look on Viktar’s face said that this was a rare event, and Silver’s intake of breath seemed to back this up.

Han couldn’t place why, but he thought there was something odd about this boy. This was probably enhanced by the overly bright glow in his unnaturally wide eyes, and the fact that he seemed to be blinking far more often than any normal person would. His jittery attitude was almost like that of a razorleaf user, but Han thought—or at least he _hoped_ —that he was mistaken in seeing those signs in someone so young.

“Let’s start simple,” Viktar began, relaxing his posture, presumably so the boy wouldn’t feel too intimidated. “What’s your name?”

“Theo,” he answered. “Theo Gray.”

“Gray?” the streetlord asked, apparently recognizing the name. “You a part of the Gray family what lives on Pearl Alley?”

Theo nodded once—a singular, sharp gesture. “But—but I haven’t lived there since I was four.”

“Well, what you been doing since then?”

Theo shrank back against the wall. “My father was supposed to take me in. He didn’t live anywhere in particular. He said the streets were where I’d learn the most. I must’ve been about eight or so when I ran away.”

Han realized, with a jolt, that this boy spoke differently than anyone he’d ever met in Ragmarket. He didn’t use the thieves’ slang that most did, and actually used proper grammar. While he didn’t have the polished voice of a blueblood, and he jumped from sentence to sentence like a frightened cat behind a shop in Southbridge, his speech was a lot more dignified than that of anyone Han knew. He wondered why, if this boy had been on the streets so long, he hadn’t started talking like it.

“I was on my own for a little while. Then I joined the River Rats. I had nowhere else to go.” Theo looked Viktar right in the eyes. “Just a week ago, the Southies took over our territory.”

“I heard of that,” the streetlord admitted. “Probably wanted send some kind of a message to us, but we an’t going to start all friendly with ‘em now. It’s not like they ever done the same to us.”

“I’d swear to you,” Theo said, quickly and eagerly. “I know you have a lot of people in your crew as it is, but I could help you all. I don’t want to be on my own anymore.”

Cat stepped forward. “You wouldn’t be on your own,” she countered. “If you was thinking that before, it’d be your own fault. An’t there another Gray must be related to you? Can’t you go to them?”

Theo turned to her, and though Han hadn’t thought it was possible, his eyes grew even wider. “There’s my aunt,” he faltered, shaking—through from fear or something else, Han couldn’t tell. “But you don’t understand—I can’t go back. I can’t.” He grabbed Cat’s wrist, probably hoping the contact would help her understand.

She twisted away from his grip, slapping his forearm with her other hand. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. It was probably a good thing that she hadn’t been holding her knife when he grabbed her.

Viktar frowned thoughtfully. “How did your aunt react when you left with your father?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Theo,” Viktar said, more gently than Han would have thought possible from a streetlord. “Living the way we do’s dangerous, and addictive. The thrill—it kind of captures you, makes that you don’t want to leave never. I get that, I do. But you got to go back to your aunt. She’ll take care of you. No one’s in the Raggers who got another choice.”

Han understood the difficulty of the choice Viktar was making. It was clear to see that Theo genuinely wanted to join the Raggers—was desperate for it, in fact. But at the same time, Viktar was right. Being in a gang was dangerous, and nobody would do it if they had a different option.

“ _Please_.” Theo fell down to his knees, the bottom of his coat trailing along the floor. He extended his knife, as if the motion would change the streetlord’s mind.

Viktar shook his head. “I’m sorry. If you was alone, or in danger of your life, I’d let you join in a heartbeat. But you don’t got to fight for a living here when you can go back and have a safe life. Your aunt’s got to be worried about you, and you got to go back to her. Don’t take your family, or a home, for granted.”

His mind was very clearly made up. Theo rose to his feet and hid his knife again. He looked at Viktar—then at Cat and Han, imploringly—then back again—and then he slipped out the door before anyone could say another word.

Han was oddly shaken up by the encounter. There was something about the boy’s eyes that hurt to look at. Something he didn’t quite understand, but saw nonetheless.

There was a long, almost tangible silence, and then Silver murmured the story of what happened with the bluejackets, pointing to the remaining money in the corner. Viktar gave a half-smile to Han, clapped him on the back for quick thinking, and congratulated him on bribing the guard. Double-Keeper said that Han was well on his way to being the perfect model outlaw, but the sarcasm was muted.

Apparently, Han wasn’t the only one who felt the lingering presence of Theo even after he had left.

Gratefully collecting his share from Viktar, he made an excuse to leave the hideout and walked away as quickly as he could. He would come back later—he didn’t have anywhere else to go anymore—but he wanted to take some time away from the place. He settled for wandering aimlessly through Ragmarket, making sure his borrowed knife was always in reach.

Han heard the scuttling noise of pebbles being kicked, and spun around to see who caused it. As if conjured by his thoughts, Theo was standing just a few yards away, leaning against the side of a building.

Han walked over to stand beside him. “Theo?”

He stared at Han, saying nothing for a while. Then: “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”

“Did you have a street name when you were in the River Rats?”

He nodded, plucking at his sleeve. “They saw me by my coat. They called me Velvet. That’s who I’ve been for years. I’ve almost forgotten what Theo Gray was like, now.”

“Do you prefer one name over than the other?” Han asked.

A pause. “I think I like Velvet more now. It feels more honest, like the way I am. I thought I heard someone in there call you Cuffs as I left. Is that what you like to be called?”

“Yes.” Han displayed the silver darbies on his wrists, and Velvet stared at them enviously. “I’ve had them long as I can remember, and they don’t come off.”

Velvet didn’t reply for a long moment. It seemed like he was prone to those lingering silences, and they were a little eerie. When he did say something, it wasn’t about the cuffs. “Why did that girl hate me back in there?”

“That girl? Oh, Cat?” he asked, before realizing it was a thoughtless question. Why would he know her name? “She didn’t hate you.”

“She wanted me to leave. She wanted me to not join the Raggers. She snapped at me when I touched her. It was obvious she hated me. I was asking why.”

“Cat is…” Han struggled to think of a way to describe her. “Well, she’s Cat. She’s very independent, and she don’t like people bothering her, and I guess she just didn’t know what was going on. Far as not wanting you to join, she doesn’t have any family of her own. She an’t wanting you to abandon yours.”

Velvet frowned. “Was she right?”

“Huh?”

“That girl. Cat. She said it was my fault if I thought I was on my own. She heard what my life was like. I didn’t know if she meant it. Was she right?”

Han thought about it. “You want me to be honest?” he checked.

“Yes.”

“Well, she might have been a little right. I an’t going to ask you why you don’t want to go back to your aunt. It’s none of my business. But still, you have that option, and most of us don’t. Or we do, but we shouldn’t for some reason or another. You made your own choice. At the same time, though, I think the way she worded it was a little wrong. You _were_ on your own, but you didn’t have to be.”

Velvet nodded. Han seriously wished he would say something instead of starting up another silence. He didn’t know what to make of this anxious, self-conscious boy.

“Viktar hated me too,” Velvet said abruptly. “Didn’t he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Han assured him, uncomfortable. “He wanted the best for you, is all.”

“The best.” Velvet laughed bitterly. “What are you thinking right now? You keep looking at me strangely. Like you’re wondering something. What is it?”

“I was just thinking about how you’re different than anyone else I know.” _Definitely true enough_ , Han thought. His first impression of the boy was looking more and more right.

“In what way?”

“The way you talk,” Han admitted slowly. “You live in Ragmarket, but you don’t use the thieves’ patter flash, and you speak more proper. Like you’re actually paying attention to language rules and all that.”

“Hmm,” Velvet said, in a way that probably was meant as reflective but sounded argumentative. “I talk like a blueblood. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, that an’t it either.” Han tried to think of the right words for it. “You speak nice and all, but it just sounds real shaky. I’m not criticizing, I’m just saying. Your words are just so short and abrupt that you sound tense whenever you talk.”

Velvet slid a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a fivepenny. “I lied back in there. I didn’t run away. My father disappeared. I don’t know what happened to him. I came back one day and he wasn’t there. All I could find was this fivepenny. I’ve kept it ever since.”

He cupped his hand, staring down at the coin. “If I’m _tense_ , it’s because I don’t know what happened to him. He might have been kidnapped. I doubt it. There would be no reason to hold him hostage. He must have left. And I trusted him, relied on him for everything.”

 _I’m lucky_ , Han thought, something he had never thought before in all his life. _Lucky that I’ve at least got a mother and sister and we all try to make the best of things together. Lucky that I’ve got a place in Marisa Pines Camp, and friends there, and a home among the Raggers._

“I don’t trust people,” Velvet continued nervously. “My Aunt Magret—I can’t go back to her. My own father left, disappeared. How can I trust anyone else not to do the same?”

Han didn’t know how to answer.

Velvet flipped the coin and caught it easily. “If I ever can trust somebody again, I’ll give them this fivepenny. Maybe then I’ll be able to forget the past. Move on because I don’t have anything of his left. Until then, I can’t put my faith in anyone. I’m trapped, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to wander on the streets by myself anymore. But I don’t ever want to go back home.”

Han was lost for a moment, trying to think of something to say. “Well, I don’t think trust is something that happens real fast,” he said slowly. “You don’t walk around hoping that you’ll stumble along someone you can put your faith in. You got to work up to it by trusting people with little things.” _Where did that come from, Alister?_ Han thought dryly. _Since when have you been a philosopher?_

“Like?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Depends on what you feel comfortable doing. I think you’ll realize that you been trusting a lot more than you thought, but only if you start taking some chances. You don’t get what you don’t go after.”

“I take chances,” Velvet retorted defensively.

“Sure. You trusted me enough to tell me your story, and that’s got to count for something.” It felt odd to be in this position—comforting somebody, helping them plan a future for themselves. “One of these days you’ll be able to give away your fivepenny. I promise.”

Velvet smiled, like Han’s opinion really meant a lot to him. “As for why I don’t talk like others in Ragmarket…” He ducked his head. “You wouldn’t tell anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“I used to know the princess,” he said in a whispery voice, raising his chin defiantly as if he expected Han not to believe him. “When I was young.”

Han did believe him, judging from the look in his eyes, but was surprised. “Really? The Princess Raisa, or the other one?” He sounded foolish, but he couldn’t remember the name of the younger princess.

“Raisa,” Velvet confirmed, even though Han had been hoping he would clarify the name of “the other one,” because now he was seriously wondering. “I don’t remember her much. I was only four or so. But we used to play together sometimes, and I remember how even though she was so young, she had this—this kind of air. I knew she was royalty, but she _sounded_ like it.”

Han bit back a remark about how shocking it would be for a royal to sound like royalty.

“When my father took me in, I realized what it was like on the streets. In Ragmarket, I mean. I heard people talking. I didn’t want to start sounding like that. I suppose I was impressed by the way the princess spoke, and I held onto it. My speech isn’t like hers at all, but it isn’t like the other people’s either. That’s all I really wanted.”

“That makes sense,” Han allowed. “I guess.” He didn’t want to chance saying more, and let his disdain for the royal family be heard through his voice. He was rapidly learning that Velvet was the sensitive sort.

“Cuffs, what do you think I should do?”

 _I think you_ should _go back to your family like Viktar said, but you an’t going to do it_ , Han wanted to say. Instead, he said, “That’s up to you. I an’t going to lie, it’s dangerous in Ragmarket when you’re on your own. Not trying to scare you, but there’s lots go down on the bricks ‘cause they didn’t have no one watching their backs. I guess you’d be rum at slide-hand once you got the hang of it, what with the pockets in that coat and all. You could just slip the goods in there till you get a safe place.”

“I do that already,” Velvet said eagerly, demonstrating the simple gesture needed to slide a stolen object into a hidden pocket.

“Good. I’m real sorry I can’t do more for you, but if you ever need some kind of help, I’ll do what I can. Even if you just want someone to talk to, let me know. You got to practice trusting sometime, Velvet. Trust me.”

Han felt awkward saying it. He probably didn’t deserve to be trusted to that extent, but he knew that Velvet didn’t have anyone else to trust. He had to start somewhere.

Velvet nodded, murmuring something under his breath. “And Cuffs…when you go back to the Ragger place. Can you tell Cat I’m sorry about what I said? I didn’t know about her family. It was the wrong thing to say. I’m sorry. Can you tell her that?”

Han could guess how well _that_ would be received. “Oh, um, sure. I can tell her that.”

“It makes sense why she reacted like she did,” he persisted. “I was too hasty.”

“Look, it’s fine,” Han said. “But I’ll tell her if you want.” Why did Velvet care what Cat thought of him?

He looked relieved. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Han put a hand on Velvet’s shoulder, and he stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Take care of yourself. And remember, I’m here if you need me, all right?”

“All—all right.” Then he turned and slipped down an alley, and Han sensed he didn’t want to be followed.

Han stood there for another long moment, pondering over the conversation. It had been a very strange one—but then, Velvet seemed to be a very strange person. Like a blend of curiosity, restlessness, and insecurity all in one.

By the time he arrived back at the Pinbury Alley hideout, almost all of the Raggers were gone. It was, after all, still the afternoon, and most of them were probably wrapped up in thieving or sneaking. The only two Raggers there were Cat and Nicolas, who seemed to be having a heated argument.

Han leaned against the doorframe, amused and trying to follow the heated discussion. Apparently, Nicolas had tried to steal her share of the jinxpieces’ profits. He was rapidly denying it, but Han had a hard time believing him. After just a few weeks with the Raggers, he already knew that Nicolas had an unhealthy obsession with picking pockets—even those that belonged to people he worked with.

“Whacks is for everyone in the gang,” Cat snapped, a blade suddenly in her hand. “If you’re so greedy that you an’t happy with your shares, you can turn round and walk out the door for all I care, but you an’t about to touch nothing of mine.”

Nicolas mumbled something about Viktar, backing away from the knife.

“You run along and tell Viktar, won’t you? Well, you tell him you an’t much of a Ragger if you turn on your own.”

He fled.

Han clapped politely. “Good show.”

Cat turned on him, and it occurred to him that she hadn’t put away her blade. “You been watching the whole time?”

“No,” he said in his most reasonable tone. “But I’m surprised he’d even want to risk it, is all. Especially with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Cuffs?” she demanded.

“Just that you’re—formidable,” Han said. “That’s all.” Seeking to change the subject, he remembered his promise to Velvet. “By the way, Vel—Theo asked me to tell you he apologizes for what he said. He said it was the wrong thing, and he didn’t mean nothing by it, and he’s sorry.”

Cat blinked at him. “When’d he say that?”

“A few minutes ago. I ran into him outside when he was leaving, and we talked some.”

She looked dissatisfied with this response, but didn’t press the matter. “What does he care?”

Han shrugged. “I think you left an impression on him. He seemed curious about you, at least, but that might’ve just been him wanting to know things. It seemed like he wanted to know a lot.”

“Fine.” There was a pause, and then Cat asked, “You learned how to handle a blade yet?”

“Oh, ah, no. I haven’t.” Now that she brought it up, it occurred to him that this was something he probably should have asked about sooner, so he could be safe on the streets of Fellsmarch. “Viktar’s been busy lately, and the other Raggers been teaching me slide-hand, and like that. There’s been no time.”

Another pause, then: “There’s time now.”

“Oh, well—only if it’s convenient,” he replied, wondering why she would offer, given how frustrated she seemed to get with him. “I an’t going to take away time you want to be doing other things.”

“I got time,” she said. “And you got to learn how to fight with blades. Otherwise, you’ll be in for a life of shoulder-taps where you an’t going to be able to defend youself.”

Han took out his—Viktar’s, rather, until he “got” one of his own—knife and held it in his hand, waiting for Cat to begin the lesson.

She drew her own blade and was about to demonstrate a movement when she spotted the way Han was holding his knife. She sighed, as if he were getting it hopelessly wrong on purpose, then marched over to correct him.

“That an’t it,” she told him, which was kind of obvious at that point. “You got to have your fingers here, not around that side, and the hilt of the knife should end somewhere around this part of your hand. See? That other way of holding it couldn’t of possibly worked for you. No, no, that an’t it either. Just—” Cat groaned as he tried to correct his error.

She held out her knife. “Look at mine. See where I got my hand and fingers, and you do it too.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he explained.

Apparently, it wasn’t good enough, because she sighed again. Reaching out, she took his fingers and repositioned them around the hilt of the knife until the way he was holding it matched her expectations.

“There,” Cat said triumphantly. Her fingers lingered over his for another long moment, and he was suddenly aware of his pulse drumming against the heel of her hand. Then, as if she too felt it, she snatched her hand back.

He peered at her curiously, but got snapped at for it. The guiding, teaching Cat was immediately replaced by the brusque and curt version instead.

About two hours later, Han was making rapid progress in knife-fighting—even Cat admitted it. However, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t still distracted from the awkward moment that had passed between them. He knew better than to say anything, though, especially not when she was actively holding a blade.

He also knew that even if Cat wasn’t actively holding a blade, he still wouldn’t be safe.

When he had at last mastered a concept she had been laboring to teach, Cat actually smiled at him—a surprisingly radiant smile. “Enough for today,” she announced, putting away her knife. As she did so, her smile dropped away and her eyes narrowed in thought.

“What is it?” Han asked, hazarding the question.

“I got this feeling,” she mumbled. “You know Jed told you the day you joined, we look out for each other? And we sometimes get this feeling if someone’s in danger? I just think something an’t right.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “It’s getting dark out, and Viktar went to Southbridge, and he an’t back yet. I’m going see what’s the matter. Come with?”

Han wondered, briefly, if she was talking to someone else, then remembered they were alone. “Me? Why?”

“It’s getting dark out,” she repeated impatiently. “You don’t go into Southbridge a’night alone ‘less you got a death wish. I’m good, but if they got six Southies round me at once, I an’t that good. You might not be a perfect blader yet, but you’re rum at it considering you not been learning long. I’d feel safer with you than without.”

Han was caught off-guard by the compliment, and couldn’t think of a reason to say no. He followed her out the door and through the winding streets of Ragmarket, into the territory of the Southies, the greatest enemy of the Raggers.

He hoped that they wouldn’t encounter any Southies. He hoped that they would find Viktar safe and well and with a big taking in his pockets. He hoped—now that he thought about it, he hoped a lot of things, but he doubted many of them would happen. What was it he had said to Velvet?

 _You don’t get what you don’t go after_. He liked that. At the same time, he wondered about the cost of going after something.

How would the people who knew him react to see him now? Would Speaker Jemson be as willing to accept him in the temple classes if he knew that Han was involved in a gang that disturbed the peace? Would Fire Dancer want to associate with him if he knew that his friend, Hunts Alone, had become Cuffs Alister? Would Digging Bird speak to him if she knew that he had traded a life at Marisa Pines for a life on the streets?

Han was so distracted that when Cat stopped suddenly and muttered something under her breath, it took him a moment to realize what was wrong. Then he noticed four Southies prowling toward them, too close now to run.

It was the first time he had actually come face-to-face with members of the rival gang, and he had been hoping that he’d be a bit more prepared for the encounter. He’d also not anticipated to be still in the early stages of learning how to fight with a knife, and with only one person accompanying him.

Cat whipped a knife out of her belt, and though she didn’t let on, Han knew that she had multiple others stashed away. She wasn’t the type to carry only a single weapon.

“Well, what’re you doing here?” the Southie in the lead asked, coming to a stop a few yards away from them. “You an’t allowed here in Southbridge, ‘specially not this time a’day.”

“Maybe some of us don’t think you got rights to this place,” she answered loftily. “Maybe some of us go wheresever we like, whenever we want.”

The Southie stood a little taller, as if recognizing her voice. “Cat Tyburn?” he drawled. “An’t seen you in a long time. And who’s this?” He stepped closer to Han, who pulled out his own blade in reply.

The Southie shrugged, turning back to Cat. “Let’s get this one thing clear. You an’t allowed here, and nor is your friend here neither. You got to have more respect than that.”

As if it were their cue, the other three Southies drew their knives and came a little nearer. Cat responded with another blade, so she was holding one in each of her hands. Without saying another word, she tossed the knives in the air, caught them both easily, and pointed them at the Southies. A challenge.

Han knew that Cat was confident in her abilities, but this was taking things a little too far. It was four against two, and one of the two had very little practice.

Before he even thought to be worried, Cat was engaged in a dance of knives and daggers, but she seemed to be impervious to the blades. Either that, or she was able to spot them a moment before they struck, and had exceptional skills at dodging.

He frantically tried to think of a way he could assist her without signing his own death warrant, but before he came up with anything, a Southie separated himself from the action and sprang toward Han.

Recalling a maneuver that Cat had taught him, Han immediately aimed for the Southie’s blade hand and added a sharp twist to his thrust, trying to knock the knife out of his attacker’s grasp. His enemy dodged, lunging forward and pushing Han back against the outside wall of the blacksmith’s shop. His hand was pressed against Han’s throat, and, panicking, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to finish out this fight if he couldn’t breathe. As the Southie’s knife swung up, Han blindly slashed with his, and he was released suddenly. He heard the sound of a blade clattering to the street.

Han gasped for breath, his eyes focusing on the Southie who had just let him go. His hand was cupping the left side of his face, and when he took his hand away, Han could see that he had made a deep cut along the boy’s cheek and up to his left eye. He wasn’t sure how much the eye had been damaged, but the boy was crying involuntarily and uncontrollably, so he assumed it wasn’t good. And the blood—he’d heard that wounds to the face were deceiving, but he didn’t think it would bleed this heavily. Blood mingled with tears as it cascaded down his face, a brighter shade of scarlet to stand against the boy’s duller red hair.

Han placed his foot over the Southie’s fallen blade, not wanting to bend down and pick it up in case he another. As it turned out, though, he didn’t—or at the very least, he wasn’t taking it out at the moment. So Han spun on his heel and turned the Southie around, pinning him against the wall to prevent him from fleeing. “What’s your name?” he asked, keeping his borrowed knife in sight so the boy didn’t get any ideas.

“Shiv Connor,” he replied shakily, looking more frightened than defiant.

“Shiv,” Han repeated. “You don’t know me, do you?”

Shiv shook his head, crimson tears streaming down his face.

“Well, that’s ‘cause I’m new to this all, and from the looks of things so’re you. But I an’t new enough to not know how to defend myself, and I an’t going to let you attack my friend and me when we’re minding our business. Got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and picked up the knife that had fallen. “And I’ll take this. Now run along. Next time you come up against me, you got to know who you’re dealing with.”

Han stepped aside, and Shiv fled, not even going to the assistance of the other Southies, who were having quite the hard time against Cat. _That’s comradeship for you_ , Han thought. The thought was dulled, though, in the wake of what he had done. It wasn’t life-threatening, of course, but it had been deliberately harmful. He had done that.

Cuffs Alister had done that.

He made his way back to Cat, but by the time he got there ready to help, she had sent the rest of the Southies running. Or, rather, sent two of them running and one desperately limping with what looked like a broken ankle. He was sure that the others hadn’t emerged completely unscathed either, and he stared at her, shocked by what she had accomplished.

She shrugged as if it were nothing. “Told you I was good, Cuffs.” Then she noticed the new knife in his hand. “Whose is that?”

“That Southie what came after me,” Han explained, admiring the sharp edge of the blade. “Said his name was Shiv. I tried to disarm him and he tried to strangle me, so I got him in the face with the knife. It was mostly an accident, but it looked like his eye was hurt bad.”

“Well, you did a rum job.” Cat looked like she was about to say more when they heard more footsteps, and whirled around. Han was instantly worried the Southies had come back with reinforcements, but it turned out to be only Viktar and Twilight.

“Cuffs!” called his streetlord, catching up to them. “You all right? I heard there was trouble.”

Cat quickly caught him up on what had happened, and Viktar looked impressed. “Well done,” he praised Han, clapping him on the shoulder. “And thanks for following us, Cat, you got a good sense for danger. Twilight here was trying to dive pockets and he got caught by them bluejackets.”

Twilight looked sheepish, then withdrew a full-looking purse. “Got what I wanted, though.”

“An’t going to do you no good if you’re arrested,” Viktar admonished, but with a slight grin. “Cuffs, you got yourself a good knife outa this, and you made yourself a name. I’m proud of you.”

Han hesitated for a moment. Was it something to be proud of, to have put his weapon to use and possibly given someone permanent damage to their face or sight? He had never imagined that this would be in his future.

 _It’s everyone for themself_ , Viktar had said. _It’s why you got to make hard choices._

He might not have expected this would be his future, but the world around him had put him here and he would do what he could to survive through it. No matter how he looked back on it now, lashing out with the knife had been an instinct, not a choice. And on the streets of Fellsmarch, it was your instinct that helped you survive.

So Han just smiled and gave Viktar back his old knife.

He slept fitfully that night, plagued by a dream about silver that melted down until it was the size of a fivepenny piece, lying in the middle of the street. He reached out to take it, but the hurried movement of approaching bluejackets made him look up in surprise. The Queen’s Guard were holding little knives instead of swords, and wearing velvet coats instead of their blue uniforms, and though Han tried to discreetly snatch up the silver, it seemed to stay out of his reach. When his fingers finally closed around it, he could have sworn he felt someone else’s hand over his, by his pulse point—but perhaps he imagined it, because as soon as the feeling registered, it had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I need to introduce Velvet this early on in the fic? No. Did I do that anyway? Absolutely, because he's interesting and I wish we'd seen more of him in the book.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading this so far - the next update will be posted next Wednesday!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! Again, I could've broken it up but I didn't really want to, and it seemed to go better this way. There's a bit of a time skip before the beginning of this one, but I explained what's happened between the chapters so I think it'll make sense. Hope you like it!!

A full year had passed since Han swore to Viktar and joined the Raggers, and he was beginning to learn why the streetlord had called the life _addictive_. The Raggers were free, in every sense of the word. They didn’t care about society or tradition, or the law, really. They did what they wanted, either because they wanted it too badly not to or because what they wanted was for the best.

Either way, there was something so whole and perfect about freedom.

Though Han had been right in saying he wouldn’t be able to go home and visit Mam and Mari, he was able to send his shares to them. Hopefully, Mam was a little less angry at the idea of him in the Raggers if it meant they would get more money than she was able to make on her own.

The twins in the gang, Carlyn and Skaryn, had left and gone off on their own—for what purpose, Han still had no idea. One morning, they had left a hastily written note behind for Viktar explaining that they were leaving for good, with their scarves neatly folded on top. No one had heard from them since. They’d been skilled contributors in the matter of diving pockets, and more than that, they’d been good friends. Viktar had voiced more than once how sorry he was to see them go.

Though he knew better than to say something about it out loud, Han had a feeling that Nicolas wouldn’t be long for the gang either, although this would probably not be by choice. He was getting rapidly unpredictable, and had tried to rob the other Raggers twice more after Cat—though, of course, he always denied it. It was obvious that Viktar was losing patience with him, and worse, the streetlord was reprimanding him more and more often for acting in a way inappropriate toward his “family” in the Raggers. It wouldn’t be long now before he got sent away entirely.

At first, Han and Sarie were fierce rivals, each of the two newest recruits eager to outdo the other. The rest of the gang watched in amusement as one of them rushed to steal something bigger, something _better_ than what the other had, and fail because they put too little thought and too much competition into the attempt. After a while, that began to die down a little and they grew to become close friends.

Viktar remained a responsible streetlord, watching out for his Raggers and dawbing the bluejackets more than once to look the other way. He was drawn into many street fights with the Southies, but always with others at his back, and it became obvious he had a reputation for winning his battles—a well-deserved one, at that.

Han himself was growing to be very skilled at knife-fighting after his fight with Shiv, and though Cat had given up entirely on making him into a flimper, she continued to educate him on blades. He wasn’t, and he doubted he would ever be, as talented as her in that respect, but he was improving greatly. Plus, there was something gratifying about the snappish Cat smiling and saying he finally got what she was teaching him.

It was also more satisfying than it should have been to hear one of the Raggers call him “Cuffs”—probably because no one else had ever called him that before, and it felt like a new start for him.

Sometimes when Han was going through the streets, he would find Velvet standing by a corner or trailing after someone, about to pick their pockets. Every once in a while, he would strike up a conversation and they would talk for a few minutes, during which Han would try his best to help Velvet step out of his comfort zone. He felt like a filthy hypocrite, trying to get someone to trust others while he himself was far from a trustworthy person, but he felt like some progress was being made.

One day, Viktar, Han, and Twilight were on the streets of Ragmarket when they encountered a prosperous-looking man that had the recognizable swagger of the careless. The three of them immediately resolved, without speaking, to pinch every valuable he had on him; it wasn’t like he would miss any of them.

Han could practically feel the weight of the girlies in his hand, the coldness of the metal, the chances it would provide.

How was it that Sarie had described bluebloods? _Them that got white carriages and scarlet satin and parties till dawn because they can_. Han felt a flood of righteous anger toward the man, whom he’d never met. What made him different than the rest of the people who were walking around in Ragmarket today, except for the money? What made him deserve to have jingling pockets while everyone else turned to ragpicking and begging for coppers that would never be enough?

The three Raggers were trailing after the blueblood, waiting for the perfect opportunity, when somebody else darted out from behind a side street and began to tail him also. It didn’t look like the stranger had noticed Han, Viktar, and Twilight yet, but they probably had the same goal.

The blueblood turned around, as if hearing something, and his eyes widened to see four people trapping him from escaping. “I beg your pardon?” he asked in a haughty, affected tone that made Han want to rob him even more. “What is this?”

“I don’t know what your other follower was doing,” Viktar said, shouldering past the boy, who fell aside as if he weighed nothing. “But my friends and me here, we was going to steal all the iron you got with you.” He grinned with this honest pronouncement.

“I could call the Queen’s Guard, you know,” the man said in a panicky voice.

“I could stop you, you know,” the streetlord answered calmly, fingering his knife in case the blueblood hadn’t gotten the point. “So why don’t let’s get on with things?”

He reached slowly into his pocket and withdrew an extraordinarily full purse and tossed it to Viktar. “I have nothing else. I swear it.”

“Uh-huh,” Twilight said doubtfully, bracing a hand on his hip. “No more girlies or purses, maybe. But I’m sure you got something else worth lots. It’s either you give it or we take it.”

The blueblood fixed Twilight with a long look, and though Han could have joined in with similar comments, he didn’t have to. His knife was plenty sharp and he was sure the blueblood was able to see that. Besides, though Han could be charming with words when he wanted to be, a menacing glare from a known gang member said more than any spoken threat could. Within a few seconds, Viktar was also holding a handful of glitterbits and an expensive-looking pocket watch.

The man shot the streetlord a look of final venom before slipping past them and fleeing the alley. He wasn’t stopped by any of the Raggers, but he kept looking behind him the whole way.

“And now you,” Viktar said, looking down at the boy who had also tried to rob the blueblood. His calm air made it seem as though he weren’t carrying an armload of incredible wealth. “What’s your name?” he asked, as casually as if they meeting by chance at the market.

“Flinn,” the boy said, shaking so hard that his teeth chattered. Not even Velvet had looked this scared. “I’m only fourteen and I wasn’t tryna cause no problems for you, only I find this cove got this blueblood look to ‘im. I been on my own a few months about now, and I try make things work but I an’t all too lucky, and I wasn’t meaning no harm t’you.”

Even Han, who was used to hearing and readily used the Ragmarket patter flash, had to take a moment to figure out what this boy was getting at.

“Fourteen?” Viktar asked, his voice thick with skepticism. It was a fair question—Flinn was much shorter and thinner than any fourteen-year-old Han had ever seen, and could probably pass as a ten- or eleven-year.

He nodded. “I know I’m small for my age, but you got to believe me, I an’t meaning cause an issue, I didn’t know you was here.”

“You an’t in trouble,” the streetlord reassured him with a bemused look on his face. “Or anything. I’m Viktar, the streetlord of the Raggers, and these is two of my best runners. Twilight and Cuffs.”

Han’s train of thought slammed to a stop with those last few words. He was already considered one of the best runners in the gang? Gratitude and pride filled him. It wasn’t often that he got a compliment like that, let alone said so casually in front of the young thief.

Flinn stopped shaking and stared up at Viktar as if he were the answer to all known questions. “Can I—can I join your crew?” he asked shyly, inching a little closer. “I might not be much use in a street fight, I know I an’t got the skill for that, but I can be rum quiet and follow anyone good’s a shadow. I been practicing diving and slide-hand.”

Viktar studied him for a long moment, then shoved the purse, glitterbits, and pocket watch at Han to hold. “You sure, Flinn? You know the risks?”

“’Course I do,” he said eagerly. “I been on my own for while, like I said, and I know the life’s hard. But I rather be with you.”

“Well, I don’t see no reason why you can’t join—if you want it. We’d be glad to have you.”

Flinn beamed and fell to his knees, offering up the oath to his new streetlord. When Viktar placed the knife in his hand, Han couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one he’d given Han until he got his own from Shiv.

“I accept your oath, Flinn—ah—” Viktar asked a silent question with his eyes, searching for a surname, but the boy just shook his head like he didn’t have one, or at least one he remembered and wanted to use. “I accept your oath, Flinn,” the streetlord said solemnly. “Once a Ragger, so you will be forever.”

Flinn was still growing accustomed to life with the Raggers, and he was now going through the constant lessons and tutelages that Han had gone through when he himself was new. Flinn had been right when he’d said that he didn’t have the skill of knife-fighting down—a few weeks’ worth of training with Cat was yielding in absolutely no improvement. Possibly the only good thing about his ability, or lack thereof, was that it meant Cat’s verbal blade was dulled toward Han and enhanced—to the point of being razor-sharp—toward the new recruit.

Han managed to pull off some big, if risky, takings that resulted in vast shares. Nicolas had promptly tried to steal his whacks, and Viktar (who had been surreptitiously watching in case it happened) ungraciously kicked him out of the gang right then and there.

Cat made no effort to hide her delight over this turn of events, and the other Raggers found it hard to conceal their relief as well. It was rare that someone was made no longer welcome in a gang, especially the Raggers, who stuck so close together all the time—but some lines couldn’t be crossed, and Nicolas had been more of a hindrance than a help for a long time now.

After a particularly long day of teaching Flinn how to charm locks, with some indispensable help from Jonas, Han was making his way back to Pinbury Alley close to dusk when he heard someone calling his name, quietly. “Cuffs?”

Han whirled around, all but decapitating Cat out of instinct. She leapt back immediately. “It’s just me,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to talk to you before we go in.”

“Why before?” he blurted out.

“’Cause I don’t know who’ll be in there,” she explained carefully, as if educating someone very slow. “And I want to talk to you in private.”

She was giving him a hard time, which he was used to, but her voice was a little less sharp than it normally was. He took that as a good sign.

“Oh. Sure.” Han moved a little to the side so they could look at each other better, and waited for her to start talking. She didn’t right away, and he was reminded of that moment months ago when they had shared that strange connection during the knife lesson. He wondered if she was thinking of that moment too—if she remembered it as vividly as he did.

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

Han kept waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t. “So…what?” he prompted.

“I been doing some thinking,” Cat began choppily, as if with each word she were dodging a knife. “All us in the Raggers know you’ve been getting rum at practically everything we been teaching you. I—I joined the gang a lot earlier than you, and I still think you’ve gotten better than me.”

Han was speechless for a moment, thinking that the comment was not only extreme but also out of character. “Thank you,” he managed, “but that’s not true. I won’t ever be’s good as you with blades.”

“No, you won’t,” Cat agreed, but for some reason, the words didn’t sound boastful. “But blades isn’t everything when it comes to being a good Ragger, and I an’t got the patience to do diving and slide-hand half nicer than you do.”

What was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually this willing to sing his or anyone else’s praises, and she _certainly_ wasn’t usually this self-deprecating.

Her expressive gray eyes had a strange glint to them, like well-polished pearls being displayed in the sunlight. “What are you saying?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“I’m saying that in a year, you risen up more than I done in a lot more than that. I should hate you more than you and Sarie did t’other those times a little while ago. I should be jealous of how much Viktar favors you, like you getting to be his second so quick.”

 _Should?_ “Ah,” Han began, trying to formulate his thoughts and failing utterly. He usually was better with words than this. “I doubt I’m his second, I’m too new.”

Cat shot him a look that said she wasn’t buying what he was selling. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are.”

He fell silent, not wanting to be called ridiculous again but unsure of what to say.

“So anyway,” she went on, “I should be real angry with you, and wanting to do something about it. But I was thinking, and I realized that I don’t think I am.”

“You—you don’t _think_ you are,” he repeated dryly. “Lovely.”

“Stop it,” she reprimanded lightly, but it didn’t have the bite that it could have had. “But no, I don’t think I am. And I was trying to figure out, you know, why.”

“Because—” Han tried to think of a witty reason, but his mind was blank, and even sarcasm was escaping him. “I don’t know. Why?”

“I was hoping you was able to help me find out,” Cat said in a low voice, tilting her head.

His heart pounded. “I doubt I could. I got no clue, especially since it seems you’re used to being mad at me.”

“But maybe you could anyway. I’m sure it’s got something to do with you, ‘cause it sure an’t me.” She came up a little closer to him, setting her hands on his shoulders and looking right in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how much she could see—curiosity? Fear? Something else? Cat grinned. “You afraid of me, Cuffs Alister?”

Han thought about it, then nodded.

“I think I’m a little afraid of you too, Cuffs.” She said it like it was such a heavy admission, instead of a perplexing agreement, and it only served to confuse him more.

He narrowed his eyes. “Huh? Why?” _So eloquent._

“Well, ‘cause I don’t know what this is.” She removed her left hand from his shoulder and gestured between them. “I’m used to knowing what things are, or being able to find out. So I’m going to find out.”

Han nodded more times than was probably necessary. “Good plan. If I…if I could help you find out, I guess I’d be willing.”

Cat drew back. “Well now. You don’t got to be too eager.”

This was a severely awkward conversation, and it was clear that both of them were uncomfortably dancing around a topic. Han did the only thing that made sense in the moment—which, looking back on it, didn’t make sense at all, but felt much more right than ignoring what was between them.

He reached out and gently touched the side of her arm, waiting to see if she would slap his hand away.

She didn’t.

Han pulled Cat a little closer, his palms resting on her back. “I like having answers for things too,” he whispered. “But if we got to live in a place without them, can’t we find new answers? Ones of our own?”

She cocked her head as if considering it, playing absently with the engraving on the cuff around his left wrist. “Maybe,” she said playfully, her fingers tracing the silver pattern one last time before pulling her hand away. He expected her to back up, but instead she came even nearer and made eye contact with him again. He hoped she felt the same way that he did about what they were about what they could be. He hoped she wouldn’t laugh at him or call him delusional if—

And then Cat pulled him into a kiss and suddenly he wasn’t thinking about the things he worried about and hoped for. Her lips pressed against his, firm and demanding and ending far too soon. She drew back, and he saw the struggle behind her dark eyes—the violent clashing between longing and what looked like fear. He thought about what she had said before, about how she liked having answers and clarity. He couldn’t give her answers that he didn’t have, but he could give her this.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Han murmured, and closed the distance between them again. She seemed to forget about her previous inhibitions as she grabbed his face and kissed him with a fierce kind of desperation that he knew could come from no one but Cat Tyburn. He brought his hand up to rest on the back of her neck, tugging her even closer as his fingers tangled in her curls.

It was dangerous to form attachments in Ragmarket. It always had been, and he knew that. If you cared about someone, it only gave other people the chance to hurt both of you through each other, especially when you lived in the gangs. It was this fear that had driven Han to separate himself from Mam and Mari, a decision that still haunted him every day even if he knew it was for their own good.

But when the person he cared about was in just as much danger as he was already, and even more of a danger to everyone else…maybe things could be different. Maybe he would turn out to be wrong, and they would hurt themselves or each other or be hurt by the world. She didn’t seem to want to stand and wait for it to happen, though, and neither did he. Han had always been one to take risks, and this one, at least, was worth it.

“Cat!” someone called, and they sprang apart. Han glanced frantically around them to see if there was any immediate danger, but it was just Sarie, having emerged from the hideout in apparent search of them. She didn’t finish what she had been about to say, either, instead staring at Han and Cat in shock.

“What?” Cat demanded. “What do you want?”

Sarie raised her eyebrows, leaving no indication that she was about to answer the question. “Blood and bones. You and Cuffs?”

“What’s your point?” Cat asked. By her tone of voice, it was like nothing had ever happened, but Han’s racing heart and even faster thoughts were clear evidence to the contrary.

“I…well, Cat, Viktar wants to ask you something,” Sarie said. She didn’t say anything else about what she had interrupted, but she was still blinking in surprise. “Not sure what.”

Cat tilted her head. “That so? Go on back in there. I’ll talk to him in just a minute.”

Sarie seemed rather grateful for the excuse to leave.

He wasn’t sure what he expected Cat to say once they were alone again. A remark about how Sarie didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, probably, or a comment about how Han had been stupidly speechless as soon as Sarie showed up. Instead, she kissed him again, her mouth warm and unyielding against his before pulling away.

Cat’s gaze lingered on Han for another long moment before turning and going back toward the entrance of the Pinbury Alley hideout, this time with an added bounce to her step. She looked back at the last possible moment, shooting him a teasing smile.

“I’ll keep thinking about it, Cuffs,” she concluded cheerfully, with a faked shrug that said her mind was already quite made up.

The news that Cat Tyburn was walking out with Cuffs Alister spread like wildfire among the other Raggers, who were by turns completely blindsided and vastly entertained.

Of course, they tried to make sure that their amusement was hidden whenever one or both of the two were present, but it was obvious to Han that they found the turn of events immensely funny. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but didn’t feel like he wanted to ask—especially not when Cat was hovering over him with her mockingly stern gaze, waiting for him to make a mistake.

And, knowing his luck, he would.

Flinn, as the newest by far in the crew, was the only one not flabbergasted at the new relationship that had been formed, and so Han made an effort to spend more time working with him to avoid the surprised whispers. Flinn really was making rapid progress, and as for the knife-fighting…well, Han supposed that was about the same as his own failures with Cat’s garrotes.

He was helping Flinn learn the perfect way to distract a mark long enough to palm their goods when Double-Keeper walked up to the two of them. “Hey Cuffs, I got to go down to Southbridge for something. Can you come?”

“Can’t it wait?” Han huffed, irritated by the interruption. “I’m busy.”

“No, I got to do this now.”

He sighed loudly, not trying to hide his annoyance. “Look, get somebody else. I’m working with Flinn right now.” He turned pointedly back to Flinn and made as if to keep going with the lesson when Double-Keeper’s hand clamped on his shoulder, spinning him around.

“It’ll be quick,” he promised, “and you can go on after. Only the other Raggers is either gone or doing something else, and it an’t safe to go into Southbridge alone.”

“I _know_ that,” Han muttered. “Fine. Flinn, you keep practicing now, hear? You’ll be getting the hang of it in no time.”

Flinn nodded nervously, but whether he was apprehensive about the two of them going off to Southbridge after dark or being in the hideout alone Han had no idea.

Han left before he could be left behind, because Double-Keeper looked like he wanted to go as soon as possible. He didn’t even try to strike up a conversation, because he had learned a while ago that Double-Keeper wasn’t the most social. He was a good one to have at your back, but far from friendly. Han remembered asking about the story behind his street name once. _Why do they call you Double-Keeper?_ he’d asked, thinking there must have been a good reason. _‘Cause that’s what I told them to call me_ , he had answered, and shut down after that.

Han shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward in the silence and with the strange premonition that something was about to go wrong. He didn’t tell his comrade about the feeling, though. He would probably either get yelled at or ignored, and Han and Double-Keeper were already exasperated with each other anyway. There was no point in making it worse.

Finally, he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore and risked a question. “So…why are we going to Southbridge?”

“I left one of my knives there day before last,” Double-Keeper said quietly, which was good. If he had said _‘Cause that’s where I want to go_ , Han probably would have done something he’d regret later.

“You do know _where_ you left the knife, though?” he checked. “Or we just going to be wandering round the whole town till we stumble on it?” He shut his mouth, belatedly realizing that the humor probably would not be appreciated.

Sure enough, he was received with a scowl and a very pronounced eye-roll. “I an’t irresponsible, Cuffs. I had to make a quick getaway, is all.”

 _You didn’t answer my question_ , Han thought, but he knew better than to say that. He might be rising in the Raggers, but that didn’t mean he had to tempt fate.

They walked in more silence through the streets of Ragmarket, getting closer to Southbridge without any explanation of where, exactly, they were going. Night was beginning to fall, and Han’s anxiety was growing. There were several times that he’d hear a small noise and turn to investigate, and see nothing; then a few minutes later, he would hear something else.

Then came the heavy pounding of footsteps that Han had begun to associate with rapidly approaching bluejackets. He instinctively wanted to bolt, but knew that nothing spelled out guilt more than fleeing—and he hadn’t even broken the law tonight. Yet.

He glanced over at Double-Keeper to gauge his reaction, but he didn’t seem to _have_ a reaction at all. He looked completely unconcerned about the situation—either that, or he had a rum street face.

Han still couldn’t see the bluejackets, and the coil of tension within him began to lessen. Surely, if they had been pursuing the Raggers, they’d have caught up by now. He breathed a sigh of relief, but still sped up his pace a little. By now they had gotten into Southbridge, and he was seriously hoping to get in, get the blade, and get out. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“So, I know I was joking before,” he murmured, “but really, do you know where you left your knife? I got this feeling like something bad’s about to happen, and I’d just as soon be back at Pinbury right away.”

“I know where it is,” Double-Keeper whispered. “Just a little ways further now. And if you’re spooked by being in Southbridge a’night, you got to be a better blader by now than anyone in Fellsmarch but Viktar and Cat. You can hold your own in a fight, Cuffs, you don’t got to be so scared.”

“I an’t scared,” he retorted, a little louder than he would have liked. “I’m being cautious, ‘cause I don’t want to be jailed. I an’t afraid of the Southies, but we both heard those bluejackets coming through here. Do _you_ want to end up in the Guardhouse?”

Double-Keeper spun on his heel, gripping Han’s wrist so hard that the edge of his cuff dug into his skin. His street face was instantly gone, replaced by a dangerous combination of fury and pure panic. Han mentally ran through what he had said—no, it all seemed all right. Irritable, perhaps, and snappish, but that was to be expected when dealing with an antagonistic person.

Then it struck him. “Oh,” he said slowly, remembering the rhetorical question he’d ended with. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” he repeated in a mimicking tone. “Do you think you know now? Do you think that? _Do you_?”

“Well…yes,” Han admitted, feeling the bite of the metal cuffs. “I asked if you wanted to go to the Guardhouse and then with the way you reacted, I just figured—it seems to me like you’ve been there once before.”

Double-Keeper closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they looked like wellsprings of dark memories. “I’d be luckier if I had, Cuffs.”

Han tried to twist his way out of Double-Keeper’s clutch, but it was like steel. “Do you—want to talk about it?” he asked, not knowing what would be the right thing to say.

“I’m not looking for the smooth words of a sympathy-worker,” he growled. “You don’t know what it’s like, ‘specially not what it was like when I’s in there. It’s—you got no idea.” He tightened his hold.

Han waited for the other Ragger to realize how hard he really was holding on. When nothing happened, he said, “Ow. Please can you let go?”

He was released, but Double-Keeper’s haunted expression didn’t change. “What is it you said? _It seemed to me like you’d been there once before_. I been there twice, not just once, and it was the same bluejacket what got me each time.”

He shook his head resentfully. “Name was Mac Gillen. I an’t going to sit here and tell you I never broken the law, you know I have. But he slapped me in darbies for crimes I didn’t even know had happened, let alone done ‘em. Maybe he thought I was the one done ‘em, and maybe he was just hating the world and wanting someone to take it out on.”

This was the kind of injustice Han loathed—the kind of injustice that stung and made it feel like Ragmarket was the trap for people not rich enough to match the bluebloods in their trickery-filled minds and ways.

People said that people who lived in Ragmarket and Southbridge were dangerous, to be avoided at all costs. They talked about them like they were a plague to civilization, whose only goal was to steal and cheat and lie. They were wrong. _Sometimes you got to find new choices_. The bluebloods might be wealthier, luckier. But the Raggers were more honest.

“The Guardhouse—it’s a nightmare,” Double-Keeper said softly, and the empty look in his eyes was enough to tell Han he was reliving his memories from the place. “Every couple months, the prisoners would try and organize a breakout. They knew it wasn’t going to work out, but they an’t had nothing to lose. First time I was there, they asked if I wanted out in that attempt, and I said yes.”

Han was dimly aware that it was growing even darker, but he was too focused on the story to protest.

“We got near to the entrance of the Guardhouse when we was caught, and we had just a few moments before they got us. We were close enough to the door that one of us would be able to leave, and this other prisoner said it’d happened before, and they all had to pick one a’us should go. That person would be called the ‘keeper,’ ‘cause they’d keep living for another day. Hopefully longer.”

“And they picked you,” Han whispered, wondering how it must have felt to know that everyone around you wanted for you to survive, knowing they probably wouldn’t.

“They picked me,” Double-Keeper confirmed hollowly. “I tried to get ‘em to let someone else go but there just wasn’t time for a fight over it. This one, he said to me, ‘You got yourself a future. Go live it.’ And I couldn’t let him down, so I left.”

His voice shook with locked-up emotions pouring out. “The second time I was jailed, it was Gillen again, and he wanted sure I couldn’t get out again. I was there for a while, and I…bloody bones, the things I saw there. Then there was another breakout. I hoped it wouldn’t come to choosing a keeper, but the security was higher-up and them bluejackets was all over. There was even less time now, and they all shoved me to the door. Said I’d missed my first chance so they’d give me another.”

He was trembling by now, and Han tentatively touched his shoulder to comfort him. “I an’t been caught since, for anything I did or didn’t do. Every time I hear bluejackets coming through, I try to play calm, but I just remember Gillen and those prisoners who decided I should go free.

“When I swore to Viktar, I asked to be called Double-Keeper ‘cause I hoped that if enough people called me that, I’d get to be proud of it. Proud that I was in the Guardhouse twice and survived, proud that there was people what _wanted_ me keep living. But I an’t got to be proud of it, not yet. Just confused, and guilty, and so scared, and Cuffs—Cuffs, how long does it take to forget?”

His voice was rising uncontrollably, and Han made little shushing noises as soothingly as he could manage. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Some things you can’t forget, and some things you wouldn’t want to. I probably an’t the best one to talk to about this ‘cause I never been in the Guardhouse…but I’m sure it’ll get easier. It’s got to.”

Double-Keeper looked down. “Th-thank you.”

Han squinted. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“There is,” he insisted. “I an’t ever told nobody about my past ‘cept for Viktar, and you didn’t judge me for it. And Cuffs, I’m real sorry for being so cross with you all the time, it’s just you seem so _fearless_ , and—”

His words broke, and Han took that as an opportunity to cut in. “I’m not fearless,” he corrected. “No one’s fearless. In fact, I’m about as far from fearless as you could get. I’m afraid of lots of things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I’m afraid of letting down my mam and little sister. They’re why I swore to Viktar in the first place, but I worry about them a lot. I’m doing all I can for them, but I’m afraid it might make no difference.”

Double-Keeper stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I bet it makes a difference to them. It’s got to. You’re a good Ragger, Cuffs.”

Han gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Come on, now. Let’s go get your knife and go back to Pinbury.”

“All right. I left it by the—”

More thundering footsteps, closer this time, cut him off as they drew nearer. Han closed his eyes for a moment in a mix of frustration and apprehension as to how his friend would react. He said a silent prayer that the bluejackets would pass by like they did before.

Of course, that did nothing but tempt his chronic awful luck. The Queen’s Guard burst out from a back street and ran toward the two Raggers, leaving Han just enough time to wonder if he really did attract misfortune or if he just chose to wander the city at the worst possible times.

Double-Keeper’s eyes had gone wide with fear, and his hand inched toward Han’s cuff again. “Do—do you got any money? To bribe them like you done with Silver?” His voice was a hushed whisper.

“No,” Han hissed back, appalled at his mistake. “I would’ve, but I thought we were just going to be done and gone.”

Maybe they could get out of this. They hadn’t been actively breaking the law, after all, or even planning to—the bluejackets wouldn’t have any incriminating evidence. Then again, it didn’t seem like they needed it.

The bluejacket in the lead came up to them first, and it became clear that there was no point in making a run for it. This guard meant business.

“Stop where you are,” he barked, even though they weren’t moving. “Put your hands where we can see them.”

Han awkwardly raised his hands, while the other Ragger did the same. Only belatedly did he notice that Double-Keeper had gone ghostly pale and still at the bluejacket’s words—like the voice was familiar. This had to be Mac Gillen.

“What’s the problem?” Han asked bluntly, hoping to raise the matter of their innocence early on.

“Problem?” Gillen snickered. “You broke the law, that’s what the problem is, and we’re takin’ you to the Guardhouse for it.” While he grinned like he was pleased with himself, Han was hoping fervently that the bluejacket would fail to recognize Double-Keeper. Their situation was bad enough as it was, without the added troubles.

“What crimes did we commit?” he said, feigning bafflement. In actuality, he’d committed countless since joining the Raggers, but he was willing to bet that Gillen didn’t know about those. Or if he did, that he was arresting him for something else.

Han didn’t receive an answer, which led him to believe that Gillen didn’t know they had actually broken laws at all. He was just in the mood to harass someone.

Great.

“My brother and I were just going home after an honest day’s work,” he explained, organizing his story as he went. He didn’t much look like he could pass for Double-Keeper’s brother, but Gillen probably couldn’t tell that in the dark. “We was in our father’s shop, selling clan-made goods, and it was time to leave. Only our father’s gone home a’ready, ‘cause he was sick, so we had to close down the shop just by ourselves.”

“ _Really_ ,” he said skeptically, like he was humoring a _lytling_. “Well, then you tell me, where’ve I seen your brother before?”

Han’s heart sank. He knew that he couldn’t go on being the only one speaking; that would tell Gillen that something was wrong. But at the same time, he didn’t want Double-Keeper to say something and reveal his secret.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe you’ve come to the shop before ‘n seen one of us.”

Gillen was obviously losing patience. “I want him to tell me. He’s been awful quiet.”

“He can’t, sir,” Han protested, a burst of inspiration hitting him. “I think he’s started to get the sickness our father’s got, it’s going around Ragmarket and all. It damages the throat, and my brother’s been having a hard time talking. Today it was only getting worse, and he’s feeling weak. It’s why we was trying to get home quick as we could.”

Gillen huffed at the inconvenience of someone being sick, then backed up as if worried it was contagious. “Well, I still say the situation’s lookin’ suspicious. You and you—” he pointed at two other bluejackets— “take ‘em into custody.” Han noticed that he wasn’t coming anywhere near the person he believed to be contaminated. Typical.

Understandably, the other guards didn’t spring forward to do his bidding. Gillen sighed again, this time muttering about his colleagues, then lit a lantern and took a reluctant step toward Double-Keeper.

He stopped in his tracks. “You—you. I want to hear what you have to say for yourself.” He pointed a warning finger at Han, as if to stop words before he started. “No. Not you. Him. I don’t want to hear more a’your lies. I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”

“Never…seen you before…sir,” Double-Keeper rasped in a strangled voice. Apparently, he was keeping up the pretense of being Han’s sick brother to see if Gillen would make a mistake. It was a decent plan. Better than any Han had, that was for sure, but that was mostly because Han didn’t have any.

“I don’t believe you!” Gillen exploded. He seemed to have a short temper. “You’re that criminal I caught twice, and you still escaped! Well? Tell me what you’re doing here.”

“G-going home,” he said hoarsely. Han had to admit, his voice was convincing. “We…we closed up the shop. Ourselves. Like—like…he told you. I never…b-broken the law.” He staggered, grabbing Han’s arm for support.

Double-Keeper was a rum actor, even when he was scared to death.

Han placed his left hand on his friend’s shoulder as if to steady him. “You all right?”

“F-fine,” he insisted, using his “brother” as leverage to push himself upright. His movements were sloppy and weak. Han wasn’t sure how much of that was for Gillen’s sake and how much of it was out of genuine fear.

Han noticed, with satisfaction, that Gillen was starting to draw back a little, narrowing his eyes at the two of them. Knowing that he had to put an end to this before the act got too out-of-hand, he looked over to the bluejacket, allowing a little panic to enter his expression.

“Please, sir,” Han begged, “we an’t causing any trouble and my brother’s real sick. I just got to get him home so we can get the physician.”

They were interrupted by a figure running up to them, his face illuminated in the light of the lantern Gillen held.

Viktar.

Han had never been happier to see his streetlord—while he might be clever, this was one situation he worried he might not have gotten out of. Viktar was holding a pouch of what could only be money in his hands.

Apparently, the streetlord had heard what had just been said, so he was aware of the game they were playing. “I know these, Gillen,” he said, without any kind of a greeting. “They’re them that live by me, and they an’t never broken the law ‘fore.”

Gillen glared at him. “You don’t know nothing about what’s going on here.”

“I know plenty,” Viktar protested, as if offended. “I know my neighbor’s brother here’s real sick, like he told you, and you an’t doing nothing about it. ‘Stead, you’re giving them a hard time ‘bout something they didn’t even done. Look now—” he held the bag up so the bluejacket could see it. “For your time?”

He smiled at Gillen for a long moment—that careless streetlord smile that Han knew and recognized. A smile that, just the other day, Cat had said she’d seen in Han himself.

Gillen stared greedily at the money, then back at the Raggers. “You don’t know who this is—a ruthless criminal. He been in the Guardhouse twice, and he broken out.”

“You’ve…co-confused me with…someone else,” Double-Keeper said chokingly. “I never…been arrested. I never broken…the law neither. Tried to tell you.” He stumbled again, and Han caught him. He was now supporting most of his weight.

The bluejacket stared at them all another long moment. “Fine,” he grumbled. Viktar grinned gleefully, then tossed him the money a little harder than necessary. Gillen fumbled the catch, then picked it up from the ground. He glared at Viktar, but also looked happy with his windfall.

Gillen and his men waited until the Raggers left, and so Han was stuck half-carrying Double-Keeper away so he wouldn’t blow their cover. When they finally were out of sight of the bluejackets, Han released him, breathing heavily, while Viktar looked worried.

“You two all right?” he checked, but he was mostly looking at Double-Keeper.

“I’m fine,” Han reassured him, also watching his friend.

Double-Keeper said nothing. He was wide-eyed and horrified, and though it was a warm night, he shivered like he was cold. Viktar had to repeat his question twice more before he got a response.

“I-I don’t know,” Double-Keeper stammered, which was as good as an answer. “He was just so close to getting me again, and then he recognized me….” He trailed off, looking down at his hands before meeting the streetlord’s gaze once more. “I’m real sorry, Viktar. You been so patient with me, you given me a place and a family when I didn’t have none, but I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“What is ‘this’?” Viktar asked gently.

“All of this!” He waved his hands around feverishly, indicating them, the street, Ragmarket. “I thought I was. I thought I could put all my past behind when I swore to you, but I just can’t. All I’m ever able to think about ‘s how long it’ll be ‘fore I get sent back to the Guardhouse. And an’t no one going to push me toward the door again, saying they want me to be their keeper.”

His face was lit up by the streetlight, and he looked frantic—hysterical, even. “What am I saying? I wouldn’t want them to! I don’t want no one else to save my life at the expense a’their own. You been great to me, Viktar, and I’ll owe you forever, Cuffs. But I got to leave. I can’t do this anymore.”

Han could tell that even though Double-Keeper probably wasn’t thinking clearly, he absolutely meant it. And once he was thinking clearly, he’d probably still mean it. After everything he had gone through, going on with this life was too much for him.

What was it that his friend’s mother, Willo, had said to him once? _Everything has a breaking point, Hunts Alone. When you find it, you have to take a deep breath, remember where you’ve come from, and then put the pieces back together. Nothing lasts forever, but we’d have nothing left if people didn’t create new things from what they used to have._

Double-Keeper had found his breaking point, and this was how he was putting the pieces back together.

Viktar stepped forward, looking him in the eyes. “I’d never hold you here if you didn’t want it. But I’m worried about what’ll happen t’you. Will you be staying in Ragmarket?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. No, I don’t think I could stay. I’d go somewhere else, somewhere I not been before. Fortress Rocks, maybe. If that don’t work I can go to Tamron or something, they don’t mind foreigners.”

The streetlord nodded slowly, admitting it was a good plan. “I’m sorry for putting you through all this, Double-Keeper.”

“It wasn’t you,” he protested. “You been great to me, the best streetlord I coulda hoped for. But I just can’t do this anymore.”

Viktar stared at his runner one last time, then clapped him on the shoulder and forced a smile. “I guess this is good-bye, then. Wherever you go from here, good luck.”

“Thank you, Viktar. Thank you, Cuffs.” And then, leaning in to get closer to Han, he whispered a final message. “My knife was underneath the iron bench by Westgate Alley. I want you to have it. Cuffs.” And then he was gone.

Just like that, another one of the Raggers was gone. This one had left of his own accord, but it didn’t make it any less bittersweet.

Wordlessly, Viktar set off down the streets of Ragmarket to get back to Pinbury. Han wondered a little at the way Double-Keeper had tacked on his name at the end, but mostly he worried about what would happen to him now. Mostly he was struck by the fact that in the street life, everything changed in the blink of an eye. It was fast and bold and it appealed to him in a way that nothing else had in a long time. There was danger in it, of course, probably more of it than would seem sane to a different person. Some of it was the danger of trusting people that could easily have an opportunity to stab him in the back, and some of it was in the actual danger of getting stabbed that came with every day in the Raggers.

But it was so _perfect_ , so _right_ that Han couldn’t turn away from it the way Mam had wanted him to.

The way he knew, in his heart, that he should soon.

The way he knew, in his heart, that he wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! The third out of five chapters in this fic. Please tell me what you think - if you loved it, if you didn't, if you have questions about where I'm going with this or what I think, or if you just want to criticize how I wrote the kiss scene. If you do, I won't blame you at all because I agonized over it for way too long. I'm pretty okay with how it turned out, but I have the hardest time ever writing kiss scenes. It's so difficult. Anyone else have this same problem?


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update to this - I've been busy lately. I hope you like it!! There's going to be one more chapter after this one.

Han wondered what was harder to admit to himself—that he was in a gang and yet he still had never been happier, or that he really was so good at the life. In just two years of being a Ragger (had it really been two years?) his street name was already being spoken with fear throughout Ragmarket, and sometimes Southbridge.

There was something gratifying in seeing people cross the street because he was coming their way, or looking down to his wrists and then darting off with a mumbled excuse for leaving. He didn’t like people being afraid of him, but he liked being important enough for people to fear.

It seemed, though, that not everyone was eager to avoid a confrontation with him—some were actively seeking one. It was evident that the Southie he’d taken the knife from, Shiv, had not forgotten his humiliation at the hands of Cuffs Alister. Shiv’s name too was beginning to be a legend in Southbridge, and he had quickly made a reputation for himself as one of the best knife-fighters in the city. He was a little too enthusiastic in his endeavors to retaliate against Han, though, and most of the time when Han saw his familiar red hair and scarred face, he tried to leave instead of antagonize Shiv. There was a time and a place for street fights, and every encounter he had with Shiv was not that.

Han had found himself another hideout, in addition to the place on Pinbury Alley, in case he didn’t have time to make it there or just didn’t want to be there. It was beneath an abandoned warehouse on Pilfer Alley, and he was reasonably sure that no one but himself—and the other Raggers—knew it was there. He’d repeatedly extended the invitation for his friends to go there, also, whenever they needed it, but for some reason they regarded the place as his and his only. It got to a point where he didn’t push them anymore. Besides, it _was_ nice to have something that belonged to just him. The only other things that he owned were his Ragger scarf and his two knives.

It wasn’t long after getting his new hideout that things started to change, and he was faced with yet another sober reminder that life in Ragmarket was far from easy. It started the day that he and Cat got into an argument over whether or not he should brave going into Southbridge in order to pinch some trade goods from carriages that were passing through the Way. He thought it was worth the risk, considering the iron they’d get from it. With those kinds of whacks, Mam and Mari would be comfortable for at least a few weeks. Cat, on the other hand, said it would be foolish to go and try to steal from heavily guarded carriages in broad daylight, no matter what the potential reward.

Cat meant well, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t have a family who was relying on her like Han did.

He went anyway, and for the first time, Cuffs Alister got caught.

 _The Guardhouse—it’s a nightmare_ , Double-Keeper had said, and now Han knew it was true. He’d only been there for a week and a half before Viktar and Cat managed to get together the money to bail him out, but he didn’t come out of the Guardhouse the same person as he’d gone into it. Though he certainly didn’t endure the kind of torture that Double-Keeper had, and thankfully wouldn’t endure the kind of guilt that his friend had too, there was something about the place that took away your hope. And there was something incredibly humbling and terrifying about realizing that he _wasn’t_ invincible.

Han had been so grateful to Viktar and Cat for bailing him out of gaol that he’d forgotten their argument leading up to it. As soon as he returned to the Raggers, Cat had shouted at him for making such a stupid decision. She accused him of having an ego the size of the city itself, and said that feeling like he owned the streets didn’t mean he could do whatever he wanted on them and expect to not get jailed. Han was taken aback. Though Cat always tended to snap when she was anxious or stressed, he’d not thought that she would immediately blame him after returning from ten days in the Guardhouse.

She only spoke to him out of necessity for weeks after the incident, and even after that, things weren’t the same. She eventually began recognizing his existence again, but it was only in the context of helping each other to do things for the sake of the Raggers. For a few months, there were no more long glances and even longer kisses on street corners and in back alleys.

When he wasn’t with the Raggers, Han spent those few months in the company of people who weren’t Cat and would therefore stand to be around him. A girl from the riverside, the blacksmith’s daughter, and even a few young blueblood ladies: quick encounters that rarely lasted long enough for either party to form attachments to the other. He supposed it made for some fine stories for those girls, the girls who had gotten close to Cuffs Alister without being robbed or getting their heart broken. He highly suspected that most of their stories were later embellished, but he found that he didn’t care enough to listen for them—especially not one spring night when, after the other Raggers were asleep, Cat pushed him against the side of the room and leaned in close to whisper to him.

“I meant what I said, Cuffs, you’re a fool for what you done,” she had told him. “And I shouldn’t forgive you for not caring ‘bout yourself and what happens to you. But blood and bones, if you stop being reckless like _that_ , I’ll say it’s the kind of recklessness I like.”

Han was touched that it was this that had caused her to push him away for all this time. She had cared. She still did, and clearly some part of her had seen that he did too.

It was as good as an apology, and he had let the kiss that followed be his own apology back to her.

It wasn’t much longer until the seasons changed again, and he found himself in the familiar position of beginning the summer in the city with the Raggers. It was two years ago, almost to the day, that he had asked Viktar to join the gang, with the expectation that it would be filled with excitement and disappointment and ups and downs and everything in between.

Lately, though, the excitement of street life had become as routine as it could get—someone would snag some goods, they’d get shares, and it would repeat. No close calls, and no large takings. Han was longing for some change, and though they didn’t say anything, he knew the Raggers felt the same.

Change came quicker than expected, and in a much darker turn than any of them had hoped. He wished he had held onto his wish, kept it to himself, banished until it was absent from even his thoughts.

Han was in his Pilfer Alley hideout, about to go to sleep for the night, when three people wearing Ragger scarves burst into the cellar.

He sat up, immediately on his guard. None of his friends ever came by this place, let alone at night and in such a hurry. “What’s wrong?”

“C’mon,” Eagle said urgently, beckoning him toward the door. “We got to go to the Pinbury place and talk to the others. Quick, now.”

Han didn’t ask any more questions and surged to his feet, following them out the door as fast as he could. He had no idea what was happening, but he was positive it wasn’t anything good.

They made it to the other Raggers, where Han surveyed his friends. Cat, who normally had the best street face of them all, looked deeply shaken. Jed stared down at the floor, and Flinn was crying. The rest all stared back at Han with a look in their eyes like they were the only survivors of a plague. No, not just looking _at_ him—they were looking _to_ him, as if for advice or perhaps guidance. He didn’t know what he could give them.

 _What?_ he wanted to ask. _What do you want from me? I know less than you do_. Then he noticed, with a sinking feeling, that Viktar was absent from the group of Raggers. He would never go out alone without some of his runners, especially not after dark. He was too smart for that.

“What’s—where’s Viktar?” he asked, swallowing hard.

Cat stepped forward to answer, but now even she was looking at him differently. He hadn’t noticed before, but her left shoulder was injured, if the blood on her jacket was any indication. “He was working the streets ‘bout an hour ago,” she said. Her voice was low and rough. “Me, Eagle, and Flinn was with him. We turned a corner and was ambushed by Southies.”

“In Ragmarket?” Han interjected, surprised and worried about what this might mean. “They don’t usually come over here.”

“In Ragmarket. Seems like they was waiting for us to come. Anyways, we were outnumbered, I couldn’t get a good look at how many of ‘em there were. Something like, what, seven?”

“Seven,” Eagle verified hollowly.

“We tried to fight back,” Cat went on, “but there was only so much we could do. I mean, Eagle’s specialty’s scouting and sneaking and like that, and Flinn’s not had much experience yet, so it was Viktar and me ‘gainst seven.”

“Seven,” Han whispered. He knew, already, how this story ended, and he watched with a horrified fascination as Cat told the rest.

“I might not’ve made it, but it looked like Viktar was the target rather’n me,” she said. “Four went against him at the start, and another of ‘em joined in at the—at the end.” She took a deep breath. It was obvious that even she was deeply unsettled by the encounter. “I tried my best, but I was just too late and too far away. They could’ve gone for me, but _five_ went for him. He was good, but no one can fight against five. Viktar’s gone.”

She went quiet as everyone processed the information. Viktar was gone. Their streetlord, who had always looked out for them and had their backs with zealous dedication. Who had let Han join up when he didn’t have another option left. Gone.

It shouldn’t have hit so hard, to know that someone in a position with a target on his back had gone down for good, but it did. Viktar was the first one who had accepted Han in Ragmarket, and introduced him to the rest of the Raggers. And now he had been killed, because the Southies set him up in an impossible trap.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _fair_. They lived a dangerous life, but Viktar was supposed to survive it. He was the one who had helped all of them survive—how was it possible for him to be gone now?

“It’s my fault,” Flinn said unexpectedly, his shoulders shaking with sobs. He hadn’t known Viktar as long as the others had, but maybe that was part of the reason why he was crying like this—in mourning of not only the streetlord, but all the memories that he hadn’t gotten the chance to have. Sarie put her arms around him comfortingly, and he leaned into her embrace. “If I’da been any good with a blade, maybe I coulda done something.”

“It an’t your fault,” Cat snapped. “You still couldn’t of fought against seven people lured you into an ambush. Forget it.”

There was a long, long silence, and Han closed his eyes. He wasn’t religious, but just this once, he prayed. Whatever came after this world, Viktar deserved the best. He might have been the lord of a street gang, but he had done far more for Han than any of the supposedly upstanding bluebloods he’d met. And not just for Han, but for all of the Raggers. Viktar had taken them in, given them opportunities when there were none, given them a place to live and people to protect them when they had had no one else.

 _We’ve got your back until you can get your own. And even then._ Viktar had done that for Han, and so much more than that. A prayer wasn’t half of what he deserved.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the Raggers were looking at him once more.

“What is it?” he asked halfheartedly.

“What’s _what_?” Cat replied crossly.

“Why are you all looking at me like that? Like you’re waiting for something.” _It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out_ , Han thought irritably.

“Oh,” Sarie said slowly. “I thought you already knew.” She looked around to each of the others, who nodded in apparent agreement with what she had said. What was he missing?

“Knew what?” he demanded, his voice catching in his throat.

“That you’re our streetlord now,” Cat answered matter-of-factly.

 _Hold on_. “What are you talking about? Cat, no, you got to be streetlord. You been here longer than I have, and you got lots more experience than me. You’d be a better fit.”

Flinn piped up. “Viktar, before he—before he started fighting them Southies, he turned to us. He said, ‘Cuffs, he’s my second. If I an’t getting outa this, he’s streetlord.’ Di’n’t he?”

Cat and Eagle nodded. One by one, the other Raggers started to nod their agreement also, even the ones who hadn’t been there. Did they all really think he was capable?

It didn’t matter, Han realized. Whether they were confident that he could do it or not, Viktar clearly had been. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Viktar must have known going into the fight that he wasn’t going to make it out alive, and that he hadn’t just said it as a precaution. He had made his choice, and his choice was Han.

“Look, I—” Han tried to think of what he could possibly say. “I’m the second-newest in the gang, there’s got to be someone better than me.”

“There an’t,” Silver protested. “You might be fairly new, but you’re the best. And Viktar said he wanted you to be the next streetlord. You got to honor that.”

When she put it that way, he had no choice but to agree, but he was worried he’d let them all down. He was shocked, he was grieving, and he was nervous. He didn’t deserve to have people put this much faith in him.

 _But they do. And so did he_. They did trust him, and that was the important thing. He might not feel ready—in fact, he didn’t feel ready at all. He’d never expected this day to come, but the others said he was ready, and that had to count for something.

Words failed him, and he nodded, breathing deeply.

Cat was the first of the Raggers to approach him and kneel down, giving the oath of allegiance to her new streetlord. Then, one by one, the others fell to their knees, offering up their loyalty in the wake of the death of a streetlord and a change in the night.

Two weeks later, Han walked slowly through Ragmarket with Sarie, Silver, and Jed trailing behind him. He would have to get used to that. Except in special circumstances, there was no problem with runners going around alone as long as they didn’t act stupid, but a streetlord needed extra protection.

He would like to say that he was stalking a mark, but he wasn’t. He was still processing the death of Viktar, and his sudden rise in status. He needed to get away from the Ragger hideouts, where there would be far more people, and he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything other than his thoughts right now. He knew that any attempt to amuse the law at the moment wouldn’t end successfully or safely.

He scarcely noticed someone was coming toward him until they called his name, causing him to jump in alarm and pull out one of his knives. This one was Double-Keeper’s. Though it wasn’t his first, it felt nicer in his hand, and he always felt more comfortable using it than the one he had taken from Shiv.

“It’s just me, Cuffs,” Velvet explained hurriedly.

Han exhaled, returning his knife to his hiding place. Sarie, Silver, and Jed stared at Velvet for a long moment before recognition clicked in their expressions—after all, it had been a while since each of them had seen him last. And he could hardly blame them for taking a while to recognize him. Even Han, who saw Velvet and spoke with him often, was taken aback at how different he looked this time. He’d lost weight, the velvet coat noticeably looser on him than before, and his eyes were oddly dull. It might have just been the shadows, but he swore that Velvet had never looked so pale.

“Are you all right?” Han asked, immediately concerned. It wasn’t uncommon for leaf users to lose weight fast—it burned a lot of energy, or so he’d heard. But it also made a person on edge and gave them just as much energy as it took, which tended to explain Velvet’s constant fidgeting and almost manic eyes. Now, though? Now, his eyes looked distracted and distant, and all of his unusually still mannerisms suggested that something was seriously wrong.

“I’m fine,” Velvet answered, looking into Han’s eyes solemnly. “What about you? I heard about what happened. That you’re streetlord now, I mean. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh,” he said, beckoning for the— _his_ , now—three runners to follow him as he went to a more private street corner to talk. “I guess I’m available.”

Velvet glanced down at the street, clearly hesitant to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Han began to suspect what his purpose was, and it sank heavily in his heart. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve not been doing too poorly on my own. But I’d still rather join the Raggers. The Guard has been after me for a while now, trying to arrest me.”

“Did you try going home to your aunt?” Han asked gently, knowing he wouldn’t like the question but having to ask it anyway. Velvet would be safest if he went home.

“No,” he admitted. “But she’s busy. Too busy. She works directly for the princess heir, and she wouldn’t have the time for anything else. Especially not after what happened with my father.”

Han thought about this for a moment. The unspoken question was clear as day, but he had no idea what to do. On the one hand, he wanted to respect Viktar’s wishes, and he knew that the old streetlord had opposed Velvet’s joining the crew. At the same time, it was risky at best to let this boy stay on the streets alone—and he was sure that if he didn’t let Velvet join them, he _would_ remain alone rather than return to his aunt. If he did join the Raggers, he would be protected, and if he ever changed his mind about home, no harm would be done.

As it was, Han had fair reasons to be worried about Velvet’s health and well-being. Within weeks of meeting him, his initial suspicions about the razorleaf had been confirmed. Regardless of when he’d started on it, he was now clearly addicted, and though it was hard for Han to watch his friend go through that, he had seen from afar how much harder it was to quit. Sometimes it was impossible, and either way, it wasn’t his place to make that decision. 

Velvet might die in the Raggers, but so might any of them, and given the way he was headed, he was far more likely to be in danger if Han didn’t let him join the gang.

He hated that he was being put in this position. He didn’t want to be responsible for tearing Velvet away from his family, but then he supposed the tearing-away had already been done. Sighing, and leaving him to guess whether it was a sigh of frustration or acceptance, Han nodded. “You can join, but only if you know the risks and you’re willing to chance it.”

Velvet looked shocked, as if he hadn’t been expecting to get a yes. “Oh, I do know the risks, but I’m more than willing. I don’t want to be alone anymore, and I haven’t had any kind of a family since the Southies took over our old territory. Thank you.”

 _Don’t thank me yet_ , Han thought dryly. _I still haven’t decided whether I’m pleased with my choice_. Aloud, he said, “Let’s get this done, then.”

Velvet half-knelt and half-fell to the ground in front of Han, looking up with gratitude. “I, Velvet Gray, pledge fealty to you, Cuffs Alister, streetlord of Ragmarket. I pledge my loyalty and my blades and weapons to your use, and place myself under your protection. I promise to deliver all takings to you and accept my gang share from your hands as you see fit.”

Han realized that he was supposed to offer a knife to the new gang member. He didn’t feel right giving up the blade that Double-Keeper had so specifically wanted him to have, especially when he had nothing else to honor the friend that had been lost to the fear of life on the streets. So he took out Shiv’s old knife, thinking that it might be more fitting this way. It was, after all, the fight in which he’d earned this knife where he had proven that he was capable of being ruthless enough to survive on the streets.

Han placed the knife in Velvet’s hands and then took off his Ragger scarf. He paused briefly, remembering that it hadn’t been Viktar who gave it to him, in spite of the tradition. It had been Cat. It was enough to make part of him want to wait and find another scarf from the Pinbury hideout to give Velvet later, but he shook off that thought. It was ridiculous sentiment, for him to want to keep Cat’s scarf instead of just getting another for himself. A streetlord had to give the new runner their scarf. It was that simple.

So Han handed over his scarf as well and then helped him up. “I accept your oath, Velvet Gray.” He found it odd that the boy could dislike his home and past enough to insist on being named after his coat rather than “Theo,” but be perfectly fine with using his actual last name. “Once a Ragger, so you will be forever.”

The smile on Velvet’s face was almost enough to convince Han that he’d made the right decision. He hoped that the rest would come with time spent with the Raggers and each other.

“Come back with us, then,” Han said, gesturing for him to follow Silver, Jed, and Sarie. “Let’s get you introduced to the other Raggers. Been a while since you seen them, hasn’t it?” He filled the rest of the walk with meaningless conversation, trying to distract himself from worrying about the choice he’d just made. He knew that Velvet’s life would be hard no matter what he did, but now Han would feel guilty no matter what the consequences were.

As if he didn’t have enough responsibilities now.

Han could tell the other Raggers were unsure about what to do in reaction to the sudden new recruit, but after he explained the reasons why he let Velvet join, they seemed to at least understand. For that he was glad—he didn’t want anyone getting the idea that after Viktar’s death, he was eager to undo everything the other streetlord had wanted.

Velvet was noticeably nervous as he got acquainted with the rest of the gang, but that at least, was normal. At this point, Han probably would have been worried if he wasn’t nervous.

“Guess we don’t need to ask why you chose your street name,” Twilight joked. He, and most of the others, was already accepting the new recruit, but his light tone was out of place considering what had just happened. Still, Han couldn’t blame him for taking to humor in order to distract himself from the harsh reality. If he could afford to, he would probably be doing the same thing. “But I’m wondering how you got it.”

“The coat?”

Twilight nodded.

For a moment it looked like he was about to lie, and then he said, “I stole it.” He adjusted the collar self-consciously.

Sarie snickered. “’Least he’s honest about it. I suppose if you’re gonna steal a coat, though, might as well be velvet.”

“So you’re already a thief,” Cat summed up. She’d been one of the few who looked reluctant to accept Velvet’s joining the crew, but not anymore. Most people would say, “So you’re already a thief” with fear or derision, but from her it sounded like a compliment.

“Yes. I am.” He leaned back against the wall in a movement that would have looked casual if it had seemed like anything but actually falling backwards. Han was starting to get seriously worried.

“So Velvet,” Han said, keeping his eye on the new Ragger cautiously. “Do you think this’ll be a good fit for you? You think you’ll like it here?”

“Oh,” Velvet mumbled, apparently caught off-guard by the question. “Of course. This is what I’ve wanted for so long. Only I’m not much good with a blade, so maybe one of you could….” He trailed off, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes like he was exhausted. He didn’t finish his sentence.

Han rushed forward, the Raggers behind him murmuring with concern. “You all right? What’s wrong?”

Velvet shook his head as though to protest that he was fine, but he clearly wasn’t. His hands were trembling, his shoulders shaking like he was cold even though the air was warm. If he weren’t up against the wall, Han doubted that he would still be standing. When he finally realized what it was that was wrong, Han felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner when he knew perfectly well what happened in Ragmarket during the summer. Somehow, Viktar’s death had distracted him from everything around him. Including the fever going around the city.

He brought his hand to Velvet’s forehead and was, at this point, unsurprised to find that he was burning up. _Blood and bones_. The summer fever was no small matter in Fellsmarch, and it was all too easy for people to die from it, especially when there were few healers and even fewer people who could afford one. Not to mention how contagious it was.

His mind was racing, but he landed on one decision before any other. It wasn’t easy, but it was the safest. “Everyone, get out of here now. Go to my Pilfer Alley place instead. All of you can stay there as long as you need, but don’t come back here until this is over. I don’t want any of you to get sick too.”

“What, you think you can take care of him all yourself without driving yourself mad or looking after you too?” Cat demanded, her hands on her hips. “Not going to happen, Cuffs. I’m staying.”

Han could have argued with her about it, and as streetlord, he knew that his decision was what mattered. He wasn’t sure why she was so intent on staying anyway—Cat wasn’t the kind of person who would rather look after someone while they were ill than pick pockets and get into street fights. But she seemed set on it now, and he knew that a long disagreement would do no good for anybody. If Cat wanted to stay, she could stay, and if he was being honest he was already grateful for the help. But there was no way he would let all of his Raggers expose themselves to a fever that could kill them.

“Fine,” Han caved. “But the rest of you, go to Pilfer Alley. I don’t like it, but you got to keep yourselves safe. Stay away from the alleys with the most yellow flags, and try to keep a low profile if you can. I promise we’ll meet back up with you once Velvet’s better.”

Sarie was the first to nod, but the others quickly followed suit even if they were clearly reluctant. “You stay safe now, too, Cuffs,” Flinn muttered as he slipped out the door, and Han gave him a quick promise that he would. He couldn’t, of course, actually promise it, but he could at least give Flinn some reassurance. The poor boy was already distressed enough from Viktar’s death.

Once the rest of the Raggers were gone, Han turned to face Cat, but she was already guiding Velvet to the corner of the room, where she helped him lie down on one of the cots and gave him a blanket. Without a word, she turned away from Velvet and stalked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Han asked, confused.

“To find a healer in this city who’s not a fraud,” Cat said, rolling her eyes. “You think we’ll be able to do much ‘gainst a fever’s killing so many people in the city? Nah.” She whipped out her knife. “I reckon I’ll be able to scare at least someone into coming down here and helping.”

Han nodded. He might not be sure why she was taking this kind of initiative, but he wasn’t going to question it. “Good thinking. I’ll stay here in case he needs anything. And Cat?”

She turned back, meeting his gaze. “What?”

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wanted to pull her close and kiss her, show her just how grateful he was, but even he knew that it wasn’t a good idea at the moment. “For staying.”

“Of course,” Cat said, looking at him strangely. Like it was obvious. Like it was to be expected.

Han stood there motionless for a moment after she had left, until the sound of Velvet’s feverish murmurs reminded him why he was here and spurred him into action.

Velvet was sick with the summer fever for the whole week, and Han would be lying if he said there weren’t moments where he wondered if he would make it. It had taken Cat three days to find a competent healer that she was able to intimidate into even being willing to help. It took another day for the healer to actually arrive and treat her patient, and for a little while Han worried that it had done nothing. But slowly, steadily, Velvet’s skin grew less hot to the touch and he became more and more coherent.

After the fever passed, though, he began to get worse again, though not with the same sickness. Cat had been at her wit’s end trying to figure out what was wrong with him _now_ , but it didn’t take long for she and Han to realize that it was withdrawal. If anything, this was worse than the fever, because he didn’t know how he could help. When Velvet wasn’t curled up in blankets and gasping in pain, he was trying to stand and shaking so badly he could barely walk. Han and Cat tried to do what they could to make sure he was comfortable, but he couldn’t help but worry that they weren’t doing anything to make him feel better. _At least_ , Han thought, _maybe he’ll get clean after this. Maybe it’ll be easier for him to quit the leaf if he’s already gone a while without it._

Han was the worst of fools. When Velvet was finally well enough to leave the Pinbury Alley hideout, he was gone for the day and returned with unnaturally bright eyes and pockets full of razorleaf.

The worst part was that Han couldn’t even say he’d tried.

Once the fever began to dissipate in Ragmarket and it became clear that the rest of the Raggers had remained healthy through it, the next few months passed by with the whole gang richer than they’d ever been in their lives—which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much, but it was with great pleasure that Han sent more money to Mam and Mari than any of them could have anticipated or hoped for. Every once in a while, he’d slip a note in with the money, but most of the time he knew it was too risky. He hoped they both forgave him, what with the new income.

Velvet was fitting in with the Raggers as seamlessly as any of the others, and it showed. He had become very skilled with a blade (though not as much as Cat or Han) and true to his word, he excelled at slide-hand. The Raggers’ speech was rubbing off on him too—the more time he spent with them, the more often he would slip up and use improper grammar, and once he shocked them all by describing a well-liked noble as the “bang-up cove” of the bluebloods.

It made the Raggers feel more comfortable around him, like there was less of a barrier separating them, but it made Han sad a little, too. _He_ might never have heard the princess heir speak, and probably wouldn’t have been all too impressed even if he had, but it had been something special for Velvet. A memory. And now it was slipping away in the midst of thieves’ slang and razorleaf.

Not too long ago, Queen Marianna had passed a law targeted for “the greater good” of people who lived in Ragmarket and Southbridge. Han had almost started applauding out of the rarity of it before he found out what the law was actually like. In order for residents to get qualifications to get many jobs, including traders, they had to attend the Southbridge Temple School or one like it for years. That way, they would be better placed to serve the community and provide good examples for others to come.

In theory, it was a great idea. Not only would the general public have more sophisticated traders that could provide better deals, but it would inspire the rest of the town to get a better schooling. After all, how could it be anything but good for everyone to be educated?

In practice, it was a terrible idea. The school at Southbridge Temple didn’t cost money, but it cost time—time that was precious for families that were doing all they could to get by. In fact, this law would make less jobs than before, because no one would have the means to get this specialized education, or the qualifications. There would be fewer merchants and traders, on which so many people depended to live. It was a typical bit of legislation from Marianna—it looked pretty, but disguised the fact that no progress would ever be made.

On the bright side, it was a popular topic for criticism when the Raggers couldn’t think of anything else to criticize.

Rumors were flying fast about Cuffs, the legendary new streetlord of Ragmarket. He was said to have dozens of hideouts all across the city, in which he stashed diamonds and rubies and emeralds and the finest pearls. Naturally, this he got from theft, but he was such a wildly clever thief that he’d never been caught for his crimes. He was feared and respected as a superior streetlord, known for his dangerous talent and dark charisma. He could capture you and steal all your valuables and leave you with empty pockets and empty hands, and you’d still be looking at him with admiration and holding him in high regard.

Hardly a word of it was true, but it was highly entertaining to Han and the other Raggers.

One of the interesting things about being streetlord was that Han was now responsible for dealing out shares to everyone else in the gang. When splitting up the takings among so many people, the profits really depended on how big-scale the theft was. On a good day, the whacks were significant—on a bad day, they were closer to pathetic.

Some might try to use their position to take more money for themselves than they gave to their runners, but there were lines he wouldn’t cross. Mam and Mari might be desperate, but so were the Raggers, and he’d never cheat his friends out of what was theirs.

It made Han uncomfortable to see how willing they were to follow him and trust him, but it was empowering at the same time. And he found that, once he’d gotten used to it (more or less) he rather liked leading. It gave him a kind of freedom he wasn’t used to. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted it, and no one reprimanded him for it.

He was thinking this when he heard a small commotion outside the door to the Pinbury Alley hideout. Instantly alarmed at what might be going on with his Raggers, he scooped up a blade and poked his head out to view the scene.

Thankfully, it didn’t look like a problem, just excitement. A few residents of Ragmarket were making their way to the Way, congregating at the end of it as though waiting for something.

“Flinn,” Han whispered. “Any idea what’s going on?”

Flinn shook his head. “Want to go see?”

He was on the verge of saying yes when Cat, Sarie, and Twilight burst in, looking worked up over something. “Cuffs,” Sarie began breathlessly, like she had run the whole way here. “I dunno if you heard, but the princess heir’s coming down the Way.”

Han gaped at her. “The princess heir—why?”

“I think they was saying something about how she wants to go to the temple,” Cat explained scornfully. “Me, I’d of thought she was too fancy for that. Apparently, she’s taking time to stop in the Way and, wha’d they call it? ‘Interacting with the common folk’?” She scoffed. “They still don’t care.”

Cat wasn’t wrong, but Han found himself intrigued. What was it that made Her Highness willing to set foot in Ragmarket so she could go to temple? Surely, the royal family could just bark an order and a speaker would come to the castle itself.

He made up his mind in a split second. “I’m going to see what’s what,” he announced. This was met by all four of the other Raggers there looking at him like he had gone crazy.

“You mean…to see if there’s marks?” Cat asked hesitantly. “The security’s got to be thick, what with the princess there and all.”

“I know. It’s not about the marks. I’m just curious.” He made his voice innocent, yet firm. “Look, Cat, if you’re worried about the security, you can come with. Or stay here. It doesn’t matter.”

Cat grumbled under her breath. He might have caught the words _It matters to me_ , but that might have been wishful thinking. It was probably just wishful thinking.

“If you want,” she said reluctantly, as if she seriously didn’t want to go but didn’t want to refuse the streetlord. “I was going to be giving Velvet another lesson in blading and knives and whatnot, but that can wait if you want to go and see—whatever.”

“Oh, don’t keep him waiting,” Han said in what he hoped was a casual tone. “Sarie, Twilight, you got other plans?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess not,” Twilight said.

“Perfect,” Han approved, guiding them out the door. “Let’s go.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to go, but like he said, he was curious.

He ungently shoved his way through the crowds, thinking that the other two would probably follow, and if they didn’t then it wasn’t likely there was danger anyway. People would be too busy gawking at Her Majesty to cause any kind of trouble.

Han finally got a view of the princess heir’s carriage, which had stopped in the street, and kind of wished he hadn’t. It was, true to Sarie’s stereotype, a radiant white, trimmed in billowing satin edgings. Who _did_ that? Who went to the time and effort of folding white satin just to make their horse-drawn carriage look nice?

Some people in the crowd looked about how Han felt when looking at the carriage—angry and resentful. Others looked delighted, as though by witnessing a royal procession, their own lives might get better.

The door of the carriage slid open, and Han wondered if the princess was seriously going to get out and walk among the people. “Interacting with the common folk” or not, he found it hard to believe that she would actually do that. She might lose her tiara at the hands of an ambitious slide-hander.

Despite his doubts, a girlie about his age stepped out of the carriage, and she was so elegantly dressed that he figured she must be the princess. Her honey-blond hair was done up in what must be the latest blueblood fashion, her wide blue eyes framed by long lashes. Her dress looked like it would win top prize in a contest to see how much fabric and money could be wasted in one go, even if it was a beautiful gown of lilac material. She didn’t much resemble the face on a girlie, but he guessed it was hard to make a profile engraving on the side of a coin look like a royal portrait.

She held up her skirts with poise as she descended down to the Way, while Han thought privately that every negative thing he’d ever believed about the monarchy was true. Then he heard the whispers.

_What’s she doing here?_

_Wasn’t the Princess Raisa going to temple?_

_And here I was thinking the princess heir was coming. What a waste of time, I could’ve been doing the ragpicking._

Huh. Apparently this was not the princess heir. But then who was it?

No sooner had he thought it than his question was answered.

“I am Lady Melissa Hakkam,” she announced, tossing back her golden locks of hair. “The princess heir has come to the city to go to temple, and asked that I accompany her, given that her sister has business at the palace.”

Here she paused, a look of annoyance flashing over her eyes like she had much better things to do than go to temple with the princess. Then, suddenly, it was gone, leaving Han to wonder if his bitter mind had imagined the look in the first place. Knowing all the grievances he had with the royal family, he probably had.

“The princess heir has asked me to relay to you all her sincere appreciation of your hard work, as well as your perseverance through what she knows to be tough times,” Lady Melissa continued. “Though she must remain in the carriage for safety reasons, she recognizes the hardships you go through and the strength with which you carry on. We cannot begin to convey our gratitude. Long life and reign to Queen Marianna and the princess heir!”

Some echoed the cheer, but it was halfhearted. The mood of the crowds was clear. They didn’t need another person reminding them of the struggles they went through and then basically saying “good luck”. They got enough of that from the queen herself—why should they praise her now?

Lady Melissa swept a graceful curtsy, not because it was required by etiquette to people who lived in Ragmarket, but probably to show off her sophistication. Then she returned to her white-trimmed carriage, no doubt to make ladylike conversation with the Princess Raisa, who couldn’t be bothered to step into Ragmarket because it might get her dancing slippers dirty.

Han turned back in disgust to try to find his Raggers, who had been—at the same time—trying to find him in the mass of people. He gestured back to Pinbury, where they’d been before, and rolled his eyes. Twilight laughed, and Sarie did the same.

When they got back to the hideout, none of the other Raggers asked what had happened as the princess came down the Way. Likely, they were able to figure out on their own. After all, it wasn’t that hard to predict what bluebloods would do if they went down Ragmarket. They’d do what they had always done

Han settled in to watch Velvet’s knife lesson with Cat, choosing to observe rather than assist this time. He was getting the hang of it, and Cat _was_ better at it than Han in any case.

The same scene kept playing out in his head, the image of Lady Melissa getting back into the coach like the delicate court lady she was. But this time, he saw what was missing in the image—the things he hadn’t seen.

He saw the princess heir sitting in her carriage, only able to see her in profile because it was all he knew of her, from seeing the image engraved on a girlie coin.

He saw her telling Lady Hakkam to go out and talk to the crowds so she wouldn’t have to do it herself.

He saw her mimicking what Marianna had done through her entire reign—presenting an image of perfection to the public, while hiding a careless, haughty ruler.

He saw the Princess Raisa choosing to do nothing.

How could he _ever_ respect a girl like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. A lot of things happened in that one. What did you think of it? Oh, and the last chapter will be up on Wednesday!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!!! So so sorry it took this long to get it out, but good news: I have a new idea for another fic after this one, which I've started outlining for :D

Autumn had come, and with it came Han’s name day. He was able to visit the room above the stables for the first time in a long while, and he was shocked to see how much his mother had changed. Her face was considerably more drawn and the dark circles beneath her eyes was enough to tell him that she hadn’t gotten enough sleep in at least a few days.

Mam immediately pushed to her feet at his entrance, her mouth already open to reprimand him for something, but he had a more pressing concern. “Where’s Mari?”

“At the Temple School,” Mam said distractedly, with a familiar note of impatience in her voice.

“Really?” Han asked. He was glad to hear it—spending time with the speakers would be good for his little sister, and she deserved to be in the company of people who took care of her and encouraged her interests. “Does she like it?”

“Does that _matter_?” she demanded, any hints of civility she’d had before crumbling to pieces as she stormed up to look him in the eyes. “Don’t know why I bother asking. It don’t matter, not a bit to you. Else you wouldn’t’ve run off with hardly a word for weeks and months at a time.”

Han sighed, sitting down and bracing himself for a long lecture. He deserved it, for not contacting his family for so long. He might have a good explanation for it, but in Ragmarket, silence could very easily mean danger. He couldn’t blame Mam and Mari for being concerned about him.

Mam unwound the scarf from around her neck, flinging it across the cramped room before sitting down as well. She glared at the fabric with enough unfiltered anger to suggest that it was the sole outlet of her frustrations. Better the scarf than him, Han thought, though he knew it would be him before long.

Sure enough: “Well?” she persisted, rounding on him again. “Do you care? Mari and me are here all day worrying about you and where you are and when we’ll see you again. Most days we got no idea if we ever _will_ see you again, and for what? For _this_?” She yanked at Han’s scarf now, snatching it from where it was tucked beneath his collar and brandishing it in his face. “I an’t stupid, Hanson. Hiding your Ragger colors don’t mean they’re not there.”

“I’m sorry, Mam,” he said, but it felt ineffectual. Probably because she had a point—he liked to think that he could separate his family life from his Ragger one by covering up the gang scarf and hiding his knives while he was in the stable, but it went a lot deeper than that. It was in the little things, like his new defensive mannerisms and paranoid habits, and in the big things like the new scars he bore proudly. And it was that same pride that made it impossible for him to cover up anything that he did outside of this stable. He had never been much good at pretending to be something that he wasn’t.

“Sure,” she said sardonically. “You’re sorry. Well, sorry don’t mean much when you’re good as dooming your sister to an even harder life than the one she’s got.”

He knew it would only make the situation worse, but he couldn’t help it. He snapped. “She’d _have_ a harder life if I hadn’t joined up with the Raggers. What I do an’t honest, and it an’t right with the law, but it’s all we’ve got to help her have a decent life. Good luck doing that by yourself with the ragpicking.”

Han prided himself on his ability to predict what was coming in any situation. He had to, after all, if he had any hope of survival as streetlord of the Raggers. But some things still caught him by surprise every once in a while, and Mam’s explosive temper was one of them.

Before he could blink, let alone react, she had grabbed a long stick of firewood and hit the back of his hand with it. Mistaking it for mere annoyance at his attitude instead of real anger, he kept his hand resting on the table and waited for her to respond. Instead, Mam hit him again, this time a lot harder. He snatched his smarting hand back, covering it with his other hand in case she tried to strike him a third time. Street fights and the Southbridge Guardhouse had made him no stranger to pain, but that didn’t make getting beaten with kindling hurt any less, and Mam’s strength was nothing to underestimate.

“And what if you get killed out there?” Mam shouted, and Han flinched. “What if Shiv Connor or one of them other gang lords beats you one of these days? What then? I might not be able to make enough for Mari by doing the ragpicking, but you sure won’t if you’re dead.”

“Everything’s a risk, Mam! I’m doing all I can.”

Mam rose to her feet, and he stumbled a little as he stood up and backed away from her. “All you can,” she repeated disbelievingly. “You know, Hanson, I find that hard to believe when you’ve had so many chances to get free of the life and you ignore them. I think you like it. I think—” Her words cut off abruptly as they both heard quiet footsteps coming up the staircase. Normally it would be cause for great concern, but those footsteps were familiar.

Mam tossed the firewood back across the room and brushed off her hands, stepping away from Han and looking expectantly at the door. He took a few steps away from the wall, too, keeping his distance from his mother without being so far away as to seem suspicious. It was hard to hide things from his younger sister when they all lived in such close proximity to each other, and maybe someone else in his position wouldn’t take the time and energy to try to shelter Mari from his own problems and squabbles. But even if Han couldn’t be the one to provide it, he would still never stop wanting only the best for his sister, and if she asked about the reddened mark on the back of his hand, he would still lie and blame it on a clumsy accident. She deserved that much.

“Han!” Mari exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she reached the top of the stairs and saw her older brother waiting there for her. She ran over to hug him, and for a moment he forgot about his argument with Mam. “We didn’t know you’d be here—and on your name day!”

“Sorry for not coming sooner,” Han told her, glancing up at Mam as he said it. “I’ve been real busy lately.”

“Aren’t you always, now?” Mam asked pointedly.

Han wanted to snap back, tired of the constant remarks that were hardly subtle. But no sooner had he opened his mouth than he realized that he had no suitable retort—at least not one that wouldn’t make his mother hit him again, and even if he let that happen, he couldn’t find a good enough reason for it. His hand stung with pain, and his face was flushed with shame. He wasn’t used to feeling ashamed, but now he was back above the stable, crouched beside a mother who was glaring down at him and a sister who was far too surprised to see that he had come home. Street life left no time for regrets, but now he had plenty.

“I…yeah, Mam.” Han heaved a sigh. “A lot, at least. But we can talk about my work later, can’t we?” he added as he turned back to Mari. “How’s school? I an’t been there in a long while, but the speakers were good people.”

His sister nodded eagerly. “Yes! And they got beautiful music. Have you heard their basilkas?”

Han smiled ruefully, because he hadn’t, but it was impossible to miss the way that Mari’s face lit up as she mentioned the basilkas. Those few times he attended Temple School, he had been more focused on the lessons than on the music that the dedicates played. Now that he knew it was something that mattered to Mari, though, he wished he had paid more attention to that instead, if only so that he could talk to her about it now and feel a bit more present in her life. It startled him to realize that he hadn’t even known that she liked the basilka, hadn’t been around often enough to find out. The lack of reaction from Mam suggested that she had known, at least. But then again, of course she had.

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “But I got…I got a friend who plays the basilka, and it’s real nice.”

“Really?” she asked with a smile, already excited. Her bright attitude was enough to bring another smile to his face, but he still felt weighed down by the guilt.

Mam gestured for Han to keep talking to Mari as she slipped out the door of the room, and he blinked in surprise. It was an abrupt exit, even for Mam, and he had no idea where she’d gone. Then again, she was an unpredictable person, and with the way the day was going, he didn’t want to risk chasing after her. So he shrugged and rose to his feet, following Mari to the little table where she began asking him about his “friend” who played the basilka.

He watered down the truth, choosing to leave out the part about how the basilka player in question was not only his girlfriend but also his second in a notorious street gang. Mari didn’t need to know that now, and hopefully ever.

It wasn’t much longer until Mam returned, her footsteps a lot lighter than the way she normally stomped up the stairs. If he didn’t know better, he would almost think that she was in a good mood.

Once she got to the top of the stairs, Han saw that she was actually smiling, and she held a box that he recognized as being from the bakery at the corner of the street. “Happy name day, Hanson,” she said graciously, setting down the box and giving him a proper hug. As they embraced, she whispered in his ear, “We’ll talk more after.” Then, pulling away, she spoke with her regular volume again. “I’d got to worrying you wouldn’t be here for your coming of age.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Mam,” Han replied dully.

“Hmm?” Mam hummed absently as she opened the box, revealing a freshly baked honey cake. Mari squealed in delight. Sweets weren’t all that hard to come by in Ragmarket, but unless it was a special occasion, they were hard to justify for how much they cost. Still, Han supposed it wasn’t every day that he turned sixteen.

For a little while, it was almost like old times. Mari’s smile was as bright as the mid-afternoon sun reflecting off a girlie coin as she licked icing off her fingers and told her mother and brother about what the dedicates had been teaching her. When her eyes began to grow heavy and her mouth stretched open in a yawn, Mam gently set her hand over her daughter’s and suggested that she get some sleep.

Mari flung her arms around Han’s neck, clinging onto him for a long moment before giving him another radiant smile and then obeying Mam. It was only minutes after she curled up on her pallet that her breathing evened into the rhythmic pattern of sleep.

Han and Mam sat at the table quietly for a few more minutes, before she broke the silence. “So it’s your sixteenth name day,” she murmured, keeping her voice low for Mari’s sake. It was more of an observation than anything, so he waited for her to continue. “And against all odds, you lived to see it even in the Raggers.”

He nodded, tapping his fingers against the table restlessly. “I’m glad I could make it, Mam, but I can’t stay. I got to go back to them.”

“I s’pose I should’ve expected as much,” his mother muttered. “An’t got the time for your family, do you? Well, if you an’t going to visit for our sake, at least stay alive for our sake.”

Han opened his mouth to say he would, but that was a promise he couldn’t make. So, hating how defeated his voice sounded, he merely said, “I’m helping the both of you stay alive as is. Isn’t that enough?”

“There an’t just one way to do that,” Mam countered, angling forward. He leaned back in his chair, but she wasn’t reaching for the firewood and she wasn’t coming any closer. “You need a real job. One that’ll keep _all_ of us safe.”

If Han hadn’t become a master of locking away his emotions when his position as streetlord of the Raggers called for it, this conversation would have frustrated him to tears. “No one’s safe in Ragmarket! We always got the worst luck and the worst chances, and we do what we got to do to stay alive. If slide-hand keeps us out of debtor’s prison, I an’t going to be ashamed of it.”

She grabbed the kindling and struck it against the back of his hand again. Fed up with that, he twisted his wrist to grab the wood and stop her from swinging it again. They both tugged at it for a moment, before Mam finally gave up and let go. “Blood and bones, Hanson!” Mam’s voice was rising now, and he hurriedly waved his hands in a gesture to quiet her down. He didn’t want to wake up Mari, especially not for this. She quieted down, but only marginally. “Don’t you try to tell me all you do is slide-hand. I seen what happens in the gangs, and it sure an’t that simple.”

“Well…there’s street fights sometimes,” Han admitted. He dropped the firewood on the floor, hoping she took the hint not to grab more. “But only when the Southies come onto our turf looking for a brawl. Not unprovoked.”

“Unprovoked or not, you’re still fighting.” And as she said those words, the fight seemed to drain out of _her_. She placed her hand over Han’s in a movement so similar to what she had just done to Mari before she fell asleep, though it was a bit harder to find the tenderness in that gesture when she had just been hitting the same hand with tinder.

Her tone softened. “I lost my husband to the Ardenine war,” Mam murmured. “I won’t lose my son to a street war. I _won’t_.”

Han slipped his hand free of Mam’s just so that he could rest his head in his cupped palms. He was guilty and conflicted and most of all, he was tired. Tired of trying to balance the two lives he lived and never having enough time or energy for both. Tired of appeasing Mam by giving his family the bare minimum of affection they deserved, and tired of being responsible for the lives and health of so many Raggers.

They said that gang life never let you get tired. What was wrong with him?

“You won’t lose me,” Han muttered, looking up wearily.

“Your da said so before he left for the front lines,” Mam returned briskly. She didn’t sound angry, exactly, which was better than normal for her—but she was regaining the edge that normally coated her words. “And take a look where that left us. Worse off than before and with one less person to help get us out of it.”

“Look,” Han began. “I know it’s dangerous, and the street life’s already almost killed me. If I could get a different job after, it’d be different. But it an’t that simple. No one will hire _Cuffs Alister_ at any lawful place, and I got people to look after in the Raggers.”

Mam fixed him with that inscrutable stare of hers. “You got people to look after _here_ , and here there’s a lot less risk. No knives, no leaf, no bluejackets. Just me and Mari.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. I know, Mam. But they’re my family too, and I an’t about to leave them.”

“They’re Raggers. They can take care of themselves a lot better than your little sister can.” She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just…there’s people there worth staying for.” Sweets, the _lytling_ he had reluctantly allowed to join not that long ago out of necessity and for the boy’s own safety. Sarie, who he had competed with bitterly when he first joined the Raggers and was now close friends with. Flinn, who always looked out for the others as best as he could even when he was the one who needed to be looked out for. Velvet, the boy who had been thoroughly corrupted by street life and was now constantly surrounded by danger. And, of course, there was Cat.

Mam exhaled slowly, and for a moment—though it might have been a trick of the light—he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. “Aren’t we worth leaving for?”

If anything she said could have convinced him she was right, that was it. He felt like a piece in someone else’s game, and he had no winning move.

“I got no options,” Han whispered. “I don’t talk much about the Raggers ‘cause Mari’s around, but it an’t easy. None of it is. There’s a little boy, just a _lytling_ who came to me asking to join. I had no choice, but I can’t just turn and leave him now. And one of the Pearl Alley Grays—you heard of them? He’s on razorleaf, refuses to go back to his family. I’m scared for him, but I an’t going to send him back, because I’m responsible for him. Just like all the rest.”

Once he started talking, he found it impossible to stop. He made sure to stay quiet so he didn’t wake up Mari, but the words kept pouring out of him before he could filter them. “And my second? She’s counting on me. Everyone’s counting on me, and so’re you and Mari. Trust me, I know better than anyone the street life’s not safe, but it’s my only choice. I got no other prospects, no other way of getting iron, no other future.”

“What do you think we got?” Mam demanded. “A promise from you that next week there’ll be a bigger taking, more reassurances that we’ll make it another day? Each one of those promises don’t mean nothing if they mean you go to gaol. Or worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Han said, but it wasn’t half of the apology that she deserved. “I don’t mean to worry you two, honest. I just got no other choice.”

“But you do!” she exclaimed, a bit too loud for the otherwise quiet things they’d been saying. “You can leave! Leave the Raggers, leave that life behind and come back to us. We been waiting for years, Hanson.”

He didn’t have an answer for her, at least not one that either of them would like to hear, and suddenly he just couldn’t bear to be a part of this conversation anymore. Han pushed to his feet, taking a deep breath and looking down at his mother. “I don’t know what to tell you. I got to go, but—”

“That’s it?” Mam rose as well, her eyes wide with shock. “You won’t stay the night? You won’t talk it over or even consider it? Blood and bones. For a streetlord, you sure do love to run away from your problems ‘stead of fighting them.”

“I know, Mam,” Han hoarsely. He had been trying to stay at least a little poised throughout this conversation, but now his voice broke. “I do. But I can’t do this right now. It an’t helping, and I can’t make you promises. I’ll…I’ll think about it, if you want that, but I got no answers. I got _nothing_.” That stopped even himself from continuing, as he realized just how true it was. There might not be much for his future in a life on the streets, but if he quit the Raggers now, he really would have nothing. And what would he _be_? Not much more than that, Han thought dispiritedly.

She pursed her lips, clearly fighting against what she actually wanted to say. Finally, she forced out, “If you want to go, the Maker knows I can’t stop you, and I won’t try. But you got to leave the gang, Hanson, and you got to do it soon. If you care at all.”

Han swallowed hard. He stared at his mother, waiting for her to reluctantly take it back, if not apologize. Waiting for her to admit that she knew he did care, but that she was merely worried about him. Waiting for anything.

But Mam just stared back impassively, giving no indication that she would elaborate on what she’d said or change her mind. He could have stayed, but even he wasn’t foolish enough to keep waiting for something that he wouldn’t get, so he turned on his heel and left the Cobble Street stable without another word. He didn’t stop until he reached Pilfer Alley, but the distance wasn’t enough to keep his mother’s parting words out of his head.

If Han belonged to the clan, he would have celebrated his name day along with all of the others that fell around the same time as his, and it would have been a momentous occasion. He would accept his calling, his vocation, and he would know the direction that he would take for the rest of his life.

He had none of that, though. He had no real ties to the clan, no acknowledgment of his coming of age, no vocation, and no direction. Not even a promise that the rest of his life would be much longer, if he did stay in the Raggers. But he _had_ to. He couldn’t abandon the people who had stayed with him for so long, just as Viktar had never abandoned them.

But he couldn’t abandon his blood family either, and he was close to doing that already.

Rest didn’t come easily to him that night, and he had only just drifted to sleep when he heard footsteps outside the door to the warehouse. He immediately jolted awake, reaching blindly for the knife he kept at his side.

He was grateful to see that it was just Cat, and not an enemy coming to shoulder-tap him. Still, this was distinctly unusual, even for her. “Anything wrong?” he asked, still on his guard. The only other times that Raggers had come to this place had been when he sent them there during the summer fever and the night that Viktar was killed.

“Nah. Just wanted to talk to you.” She came closer.

Han couldn’t say that he was particularly in the mood for company after what had happened at the stable, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he moved aside to give her space to sit beside him against the stone wall.

Before he could ask her what she had come here to talk about, Cat brought her hand up to cup his jaw and drew him in for a kiss. Happy for the distraction, he twisted to face her better and returned the kiss—and if he still tasted like sugar and honey from the name day that had meant absolutely nothing, Cat didn’t say anything about it. That was one of the things he liked most about Cat. She didn’t often keep to her own business—rarely did, in fact—but some things she just accepted without her normal stubbornness. She had secrets too, after all, and for all of her faults, she respected everyone else’s.

Except that she was pulling away now, her brow furrowed and her mouth set in a frown. “You all right, Cuffs? You not been yourself lately.”

So much for a distraction. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Just been thinking a lot, I guess.”

“About what?”

Han didn’t have it in him to lie to her. “I’m worried,” he admitted, looking down at the floor instead of Cat’s eyes. “My sister, she’s just a _lytling_ and I want her to have a chance at a decent life. But she can’t do that with my mam doing everything she can just to survive, and Mari an’t able to work for herself yet.”

Once he’d gotten started, he couldn’t stop. “I don’t want her to got to join a gang to keep living on, like Sweets. At the same time, longer I keep doing this, the more I’m opening it up for her to get hurt. I—I got to keep her safe. She’s the only one who ever trusted me, no questions asked.”

“Hmm.” Cat tilted her head. “Well, you’re right, you can’t keep her safe like this, but so’s in all of Ragmarket. It an’t a safe place. But you being a streetlord’s more a protection than a curse, least for her.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Still. I don’t know what I can do about it.”

“Not much you can do,” Cat said with a shrug. “Sorry, Cuffs, but staying away from her and getting iron to send home is the best you got.”

It might have been an answer, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. He didn’t know what he _did_ want to hear, and he certainly didn’t know what his mother wanted from _him_. Han could handle a lot, and he could even handle the world’s perpetual disappointment in him. Feeling this helpless, though? This new disappointment in himself was too much.

There was a long pause, and then Cat spoke again. “Your mam say something to you at the stable? Is that why you’re saying this?”

“Maybe she did,” Han muttered, irritated by how easily she could read him. “But it an’t just about her. It’s about everyone else I’m responsible for, which is everyone now. It’s…it’s a lot.”

“It is, but you can handle it.” Was it just him, or did her voice sound a little upset now? A little bitter? “Like you have till now, like Viktar used to. Lots are counting on you, and you’re the best streetlord we could hope for.”

It was a compliment, but somehow it didn’t sound like one. Hearing that he was a good streetlord didn’t mean much if it came at the price of being a bad son and a bad brother.

“Anyway,” Cat said, interrupting his thoughts, “I came to tell you what Eagle heard. That new dealer the city’s been whispering about for days now? He sets up at the corner a’ Pearl Alley.”

“Bloody bones.” Han closed his eyes, trying to process that. If the new dealer operated out of any other street in the city, he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to care, but Pearl Alley was where the Grays lived, and he happened to be responsible for a Gray. A Gray who was dependent on the very drug that this new dealer was selling.

The day he let Velvet join the Raggers, Han had promised to himself that he wouldn’t pressure him to quit. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and Han had no business making that decision even if it worried him. Still, he made a point to look out for him as best as possible even when the situation didn’t specifically call for it—it was impossible to forget, after all, that Han had made the conscious decision to let him join the gang. The moment he did that, Velvet’s life was in his hands.

And it wasn’t like Velvet’s life was a particularly safe one, either. He was nervous, jumpy, and reckless, all of which served him well in a world where danger lurked around every corner but which served him poorly when his mind perceived a nonexistent threat. Now that there was a real threat, Han didn’t know what to do about it. He couldn’t very well hush the dealer because he was worried about his runner’s safety, and he would never do something like that anyway, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of toll this might take on Velvet. Han doubted that he’d much like to go to Pearl Alley when he was so set against going back to his aunt, so he might make foolish or hasty decisions instead in an effort to avoid it. _I don’t ever want to go back home_ , he had said, and it was clear that he meant it.

That wasn’t Han’s main concern, though. His real worry was what had made this leaf dealer decide to set up a base in _Pearl Alley_ of all places—a decently respectable street where the gangs rarely went. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he didn’t think it was unreasonable to assume that Shiv Connor had put him there on purpose to draw Velvet’s attention. The Southie streetlord might have been a bit overzealous, because his hatred of Han had evolved into constantly trying to trap the other Raggers to attract Han’s attention. It was frustrating, because the rivalry between the two gangs had never been as heated as it was now that Shiv kept making already-existing tensions worse, and he didn’t want his crew to get hurt because of an old street fight.

Either way, it wouldn’t surprise Han if Shiv had found out about Velvet’s family and was using the dealer to lure him away and into Southbridge. Or, he thought grimly, if the dealer himself was one of the Southies.

Han exhaled sharply, starting to rise to his feet. “If Shiv has a problem with me, he can come to me himself rather—”

“Are you serious?” Cat demanded, pushing him back down. “This an’t about you! This’s got nothing to do with you. Maybe it’s Shiv’s doing, maybe it’s not, but it’s on all of us.”

“But he’s doing it to pick a fight with me,” Han explained. “Else he wouldn’t be targeting the Raggers.”

Cat made an incredulous noise in the back of her throat. “Or maybe he’s targeting the Raggers because we been in a street war for years, or maybe they hate all a’ them that an’t the Southies, or maybe they just hate the whole world. Don’t know, don’t care. But you an’t the only one suffering for this.”

“But I should be,” he persisted. “Shiv shouldn’t be lashing out at the people I care about ‘cause of a grudge with me. It should be just us.”

“The Raggers don’t work that way,” she said flatly. “We do things together or not at all, Cuffs, you know that. Just because you’re insecure about your mam and sister don’t mean you can forget about that.”

He sighed again. “I know, just…I’ll go find Shiv and end this now. Talk it over and maybe bargain a little. Then he—”

“No, you won’t,” Cat barked, her hand clamping down on his shoulder. “You gone mad if you think a’doing it yourself. I’m your second, and I’m a lot more capable ‘n you if it comes to a fight. ‘Sides, streetlords don’t go alone.”

“You don’t understand.” He finally met her gaze, willing her to listen. “He hates me, wants me dead. I an’t stupid enough to go down on the bricks over something what might not be an issue—I’ll be careful—but I an’t about to let you risk yourself over it too.”

She shook her head. “I been risking myself years before you ever did, and it hasn’t killed me yet. That’s what we _do_. We risk ourselves for each other, like we always have. Like we got to do now.”

“Not like this,” Han murmured. “No. I’m the streetlord, and I got to act like it. This is on me.”

“So what is this, then?” Cat asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. No, more than that. She sounded almost angry. “You come down here to talk about your problems and not let me help? I gave you advice about your family, which you didn’t wanna hear, and I told you about the dealer, which you spun into something all about you. You that determined to feel sorry for yourself?”

Han spread his hands, gesturing helplessly. What did she want from him? He was trapped in between two worlds with obligations to both, and no way he could fulfill one set of those obligations without neglecting the other.

With a huff, Cat stood up and stalked toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“By the Dyrnnewater. Velvet’s there.”

Han pushed to his feet as well. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean Velvet said he’s going for a walk by the river,” Cat said, her hand on her hip, “and I’ll go. ‘Cause at least Velvet wants the help I’m offering, and _he_ don’t mind my company.”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he told her, taking a step forward. “I do like your company. I—”

She held up a hand like she didn’t want to hear it. “Happy name day, Cuffs,” she muttered, and then she was out the door.

He knew Cat well enough to know that she was carefully crafting her words with the intent to hurt—and true enough, they did, but tonight he was too tired to fight back against it or protest against her going to the Dyrnnewater. So he leaned back against the wall again, closing his eyes and letting her leave Pilfer Alley. This time not even a semblance of sleep claimed him.

For the first time, Han started to lose interest in working the streets and diving pockets and pinching goods. The exhilaration was still present, but blurred in a way, like it wasn’t as crucial anymore. Like he wanted something else.

It didn’t make much sense at first, because there was really nothing else for him to want. The only other options he had were working for Willo, which didn’t get him enough money and wasn’t a full-time job, and running errands for Lucius Frowsley, which was hardly enough money to sustain three people.

He didn’t know exactly what it was that was missing from his life, but he did know that he wasn’t finding it among the Raggers anymore. He didn’t want to live his whole life—which might not be very long if he stayed—in a gang, fighting for everything he had and would never have. He didn’t want that for himself. He didn’t want that for Mari, either.

Han knew the way things worked in Ragmarket. After having let Sweets join the Raggers because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, he was already feeling guilty enough about introducing children into a life of constant violence and danger. Though he knew the same fate was coming closer to Mari by each day, he’d do all that he possibly could to stop that from happening if he could help it. Han couldn’t bear to see that happen. She was too young to lose her innocence so soon.

The Pearl Alley dealer situation had gone without being addressed for a month after Cat had first brought it to him. He wasn’t proud of that, but he had been torn between solving the problem himself like a responsible streetlord should and caving and letting Cat accompany him to go talk to Shiv about it. He might be in charge of his crew, but he couldn’t truly force Cat Tyburn to do anything she didn’t want to do. Besides, it didn’t seem to currently be a problem, and he didn’t want to make their relationship any more strained than it already was.

Until one day when Han went looking for Cat and Velvet, realizing that he had no idea where they were, and went to Pearl Alley on an instinct. He’d learned to trust his instincts in Ragmarket and everywhere else a long time ago, and sure enough, they were both there, though they weren’t alone. Or they were, depending on how you looked at it.

The dealer lay sprawled on the sidewalk, surrounded in blood from a stab wound in his chest. Han had seen dead bodies before, and he’d even killed before in self-defense during street brawls, but he never got used to it. Only a person like Shiv Connor _could_ get used to the victim’s pale face, frighteningly drained of blood, and the utter lifelessness in their open, glassy eyes.

Even the most ruthless among the Raggers, of which Han would willingly admit he was not one, was subdued after hushing someone on the streets. They all handled it in different ways, and he had noticed a long time ago that Cat in particular verbally lashed out more often than usual after a violent, bloody fight.

He wrenched himself away from those thoughts and memories to focus on the scene in front of him: the leaf dealer lying motionless in a pool of his own blood, Velvet on his knees beside him, and Cat trying vainly to tug him to his feet. “C’mon, Velvet,” she muttered urgently. “The bluejackets’ll be here in a flash, and you and I’ll be sent to gaol.”

“I _know_ —just—” he stopped speaking abruptly and reached forward, his fingers trembling as he brushed away the dust and grime from the dealer’s face. It was an oddly tender gesture directed towards a dead man that either he or Cat had killed—Han still wasn’t sure which—but then he saw the mark on the dealer’s cheek. It was faint, but definitely visible beneath the dust that always accumulated on people’s skin in Ragmarket. A purple symbol. The gang mark of the Southies.

Velvet pushed to his feet on his own upon seeing it, turning to Cat. His eyes widened when he saw Han standing there, which in turn made Cat whirl around with her knives drawn. “Oh,” she breathed, lowering them slightly. “C’mon, we got to get out of here. Fast.”

Han nodded, gesturing for Cat and Velvet to follow as he turned and went back to Pinbury Alley. He ached to run, to sprint all the way back until he knew that they were in a safe place where the bluejackets wouldn’t find them after discovering the murder, but three people running for their lives in the streets of Ragmarket was not precisely inconspicuous.

When they finally got to Pinbury, Han threw open the door and shoved the others inside, only letting himself calm down once the door was closed and they were alone with the other Raggers. What a scene they must have been, out of breath with wide eyes and that look of danger that was sometimes impossible to hide.

And, now that Han had the chance to look, he saw that Velvet’s clothes and hands were drenched in scarlet. He didn’t appear to be injured, so it seemed that Cat had not, in fact, been the one to kill the dealer.

“What _happened_?” Sarie asked, her words thick with surprise. “You all right?”

Velvet nodded, looking a lot more steady than he had been just minutes ago. “He kept trying to corner me, was talking about someone who sent him. I thought he meant Shiv but wasn’t sure, but he just kept on getting closer and aggressive and I thought…I got to do something. I pulled out my knife and I swear, I didn’t know he’d keep coming close to me. I panicked.”

“He?” Jonas asked. “You mean that dealer?”

“Yeah. I stabbed him, but—well, he had a Southie mark. So he wasn’t a bystander.”

Han, who had already had his arm outstretched to comfort Velvet in case he was shaken up from taking someone’s life, now froze in place. That last comment had been added on like it was an excuse, an explanation instead of a frantic sentence thrown around without thinking about what it meant. And with the other Raggers, Han could almost expect them to say it. But not Velvet, not the boy who had come so far from a blueblood family and a happier life.

“I’m not sorry,” Velvet continued firmly. “I wish it hadn’t come to that, but…he might’ve tried to kill me if I hadn’t, and it’ll send a message at least.” He turned to Han, who still was staring at him in shock. “Shiv did this to get to me,” he added, “and you know it, Cuffs. Well, it worked. I’m not…I an’t lying on the bricks and waiting for it.”

And those words chilled him, because he knew how much Velvet had changed since he first met that shaking, scared boy on the streets years ago. Still, Han couldn’t blame him for prioritizing his own survival over the Southie’s. It was what they all did, but somehow he was used to Velvet being different, to him being that one thread that tied them to the possibility of a kinder life and past. Now he could only see that he’d been deluding himself.

He hated his lack of anger. He hated the almost normal feeling that came with realizing that one of his Raggers had killed someone, probably for the first time, and didn’t regret it. Most of all, he hated that it was necessary and that Han had become so numb to it that he hardly found it in himself to be as surprised as he was acting.

Han nodded once, feeling oddly distant from himself and the room full of Raggers around him, and gripped Velvet’s hand tightly to show, if not approval, at least acceptance. In his distracted state, he had forgotten that Velvet’s hands were still wet with the man’s blood. Han forced himself not to grimace or pull away. _This is what I signed up for_ , he reminded himself. _When I swore to Viktar, and when I agreed to lead the rest after he was hushed._

But in spite of the amount of brawls he’d been in and the amount of blood he’d spilled, the feeling of Velvet’s slippery hand beneath his felt the most sickening. It was more than just the symbol of someone who had died at his hand. It was everything that Han had lost and could still lose, and the person he was becoming—a newly apathetic and ruthless person that he didn’t recognize.

Velvet wasn’t shaking anymore. His eyes still burned with that relentless energy that he always had, but now it was less hyperactive than it was determined and fierce.

That look, paired with the proud smile that Cat shot Velvet from across the room, was what made Han’s decision for him. The next day, he slipped back into the room above the stable on Cobble Street while Mam was working and Mari was at school. He didn’t linger, but this time he left something behind.

 _Sorry, Mam_ , the note read, saying the words that Han himself wasn’t brave enough to say aloud until he told his Raggers first. _I’m doing as you said. I’ll leave the Raggers for good. I promise._

When he got back from the stable, he rounded up the rest of the Raggers and announced that he was going to be giving up his position as streetlord that day.

He could have procrastinated the final outcome by delaying it by a week, or two, or a month, but it would feel more like an excuse than a goodbye by then. And by then, he might not have the courage to do what he probably should have done a long while ago.

He was met with a long, long silence as everyone took that in. Cat looked the least surprised of them all, but then, she’d always been able to read him better than any of the rest. The conversation he’d had with her in Pilfer Alley must have been a bit of an indication, too, though she had probably focused more on the way he’d treated her then. And rightfully so, because Cat deserved better.

“But Cuffs, mate,” Flinn said, bewildered, “why?”

“I got to leave the life,” Han answered simply. “It’s got nothing to do with any of you, I swear.”

Cat braced a hand against her hip indignantly, like she was about to make a comment on that, but said nothing. A few of the other Raggers looked from Han to her and back again, obviously trying to put the puzzle pieces together. He almost explained more of what had happened at Pilfer Alley, but he decided against it. It wasn’t just his story to tell, and it didn’t matter in the end. He had to leave, and talking wouldn’t change it.

“It’s got nothing to do with any of you,” he repeated. “It’s got to do with my mother and sister. I want to keep them safe. And it’s got to do with me.” He left it at that, not wanting to elaborate further. They probably owed a better explanation, but Han had become a lot more selfish than he’d ever thought he could be while he was in the Raggers, even if he liked to think he hadn’t changed. And he didn’t know if he could bring himself to look his friends in his eyes and have a long talk about why he was leaving the life.

No, he had to do it as quickly as possible, but the more he thought about it, the less he minded. Street life didn’t give you much time for long and elaborate goodbyes, or any goodbyes at all. Han supposed he was lucky to have this, at least.

Or maybe he was lucky to be getting away. It was less than a minute ago that Han had been contemplating how selfish he’d become since joining the Raggers, and that extended not only to his family but to Cat, too, and to his friends. What did it say about him, that he could think about it so casually? He needed to leave. He needed to escape, no matter how tempted he was to stay.

It was a little like razorleaf, he supposed. You knew from the start that you shouldn’t take the first hit, that it was ruin your life and that it might even take your life if you kept it up for long enough. But it didn’t seem as dangerous before you took that initial risk, and until you bridged the gap between what you hadn’t experienced and what you thought you were capable of, you kept thinking you had something to prove.

Han had taken his first hit of street life three years ago, and sometimes it felt like just yesterday. Other times it felt like much longer than that, and he wondered how much more of himself he’d lost along the way. He had learned countless things about survival and trust, but he’d lost whatever innocence he might have still had back then. And now he was the streetlord of the Raggers, and he kept on changing.

How much more of himself could he afford to change? How much longer before he became the next Shiv Connor, eager for vengeance against a world that would never stop striking back? Over the years, he had altered himself in countless ways to keep himself and the other Raggers safe, but he drew the line at losing himself.

The others were staring at him, some of them with expectation like they thought he was about to say more, and the others with shock that he was really leaving. It was that look of surprise—on Flinn’s face, on Velvet’s, on Sweets’s and Sarie’s—that tempted him to stay. How was it fair of him to leave them now, when they had all endured so much by each other’s sides?

 _You got to leave the gang, Hanson, and you got to do it soon_. His mother’s words came back to him in a rush, and Han realized that in spite of their differences, Mam had been right about the direction he was headed in long before he himself had been right about it.

So had his first streetlord. _Living the way we do’s dangerous, and addictive_. Han was living proof of that now, even if Viktar had been speaking to Velvet at the time. Han had gotten hopelessly addicted to street life, and it was finally time for him to quit.

“I’m sorry for not giving you more warning in advance, but this is my choice and I an’t going to change it. This has meant a lot to me, and you all are like family. You gave me a place to be when I needed it, and people to stand behind me. But now I got to go to a different kind of family.” He took a deep breath. “Cat, you’re streetlord.”

She didn’t answer, just raised her chin defiantly and met his gaze. He didn’t miss the anger in her eyes, sharp as her knives and just as deadly. She might have seen this coming to an extent, but it clearly didn’t mean that she appreciated it. He wished things could be different, but they couldn’t be, and he wasn’t going to lose himself for her sake or anyone else’s. Not now. He had watched enough people lose themselves to the gang life, and had contributed to far too many instances of it.

But with that stance and posture, with that blazing fury behind her eyes? Cat Tyburn would make a formidable streetlord, indeed.

There were a thousand other things that Han could have said to each and every one of the Raggers that he would now be leaving behind. Words didn’t feel adequate—or if they were, there weren’t enough of them. So the final words he spoke to the family he’d found in the Raggers came close to matching what he had said to Mari on the day that he made the decision to change all of their lives. She was family of a different kind, and he wasn’t going to push that aside any longer.

“It just happened this way. I’m sorry.”

And he was, but he knew it was for the best.

On the way back home, Han paused for a moment on Cobble Street, prolonging his entry to the room above the stable. He turned to look at the view of the Spirit Mountains above the city. There were two kinds of eternity, he realized. The peaceful kind in the clan’s quiet mountains, and the reckless kind in the loud city. Han smiled a little, remembering that he always had liked to dance the line between both worlds.

Whatever happened in Fellsmarch, it was always changing, and Han had a way of ending up right in the middle of it when the change came. So he started up the stairs to get to his mother and sister, this time to stay, and he knew that it wouldn’t end here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this :) Thank you so much for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say that spellcheck absolutely hated me while writing this. From the Ragmarket slang to the atrocious grammar that the Raggers use, the pages in Word were FILLED with red and blue squiggly lines. Just thought y'all should know that lol. Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed it! You can find me on Tumblr @twilightlegacy13.


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